THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


In  the  First  Degree 


BY 

MARGARET  HOLMES  BATES 

Author  of 

"The  Chamber  Over  the  Gate,"  "Jasper  Fairfax? 

"The  Price  of  the  Ring?  "Shy  lock's  Daughter," 

"Manitou,"  Short  Stories,  Six  School 

Speakers,  Poems,  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
ROBERT  GRIER  COOKE,  INC. 

1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
ROBERT  GRIER  COOKE,  INC. 


PS 

lorn 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

CHAPTER  I 

"ARE  you  really  determined  on  this  political 
move?" 

"I — rather — think — I  am.  It  seems  to  me  it's 
the  very  best  thing  I  can  do,  under  the  circum 
stances." 

"You  refer  to  the  circumstances  of — the  office 
being  easily  within  your  reach?" 

"Partly,  yes."  And  the  speaker,  a  man  of  per 
haps  twenty-six  years,  shifted  his  position,  and 
feigned  an  ingenious  look  at  his  questioner  as  he 
continued:  "Added  to  that  is  the  fact  that,  as  a 
married  man,  I  must  increase  my  income." 

The  older  man  met  his  eyes  still  interrogatively. 
It  was  very  easy  to  discover  the  relationship  of  the 
two.  Aside  from  a  marked  resemblance,  there  was 
the  manner  of  father  and  son  in  the  best  phase  of 
the  relationship.  The  two  were  sauntering  about 
the  lawns  that  surrounded  a  large,  comfortable- 
looking  residence  in  the  outskirts  of  a  young  city 


1523714 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

in  the  Middle  West.  The  place  was  not  unique, 
not  very  different  from  many  other  homes  in  the 
town  of  Stillwater.  The  house  was  square,  and 
strongly  built,  the  trees  and  shrubbery  showed  care 
ful  pruning,  ornamental  vines  were  trained  over 
trellises  and  about  the  pillars  of  the  wide  verandas. 
It  looked  a  home.  It  stood  on  a  slight  rise,  a 
"knoll,"  as  they  called  it  in  this  level  country,  and 
the  small  cupola  on  the  higher  part  of  the  house 
overlooked  the  town  of  Stillwater  and  the  little 
lake  from  which  it  took  its  name  when  it  consisted 
of  a  few  frontiersmen's  cabins,  built  on  land  pre 
empted  under  government  regulations. 

These  two  men  had  no  vestige  of  the  frontiers 
men  about  them.  The  elder  was  tall  and  sparely 
built;  his  hands,  crossed  behind  him,  showed  no 
trace  of  manual  labor.  After  his  son's  last  remark 
he  sighed  and  walked  in  silence  for  a  moment. 
Then: 

"Of  course  you  must  make  provision  for  your 
wife,  and,  most  probably,  children;  but  I  supposed 
you  felt  confident  of  being  able  to  do  this,  or.  you 
wouldn't  have  married.  Your  practice  is  good,  and 
growing.  I  see  no  special  reason  why  you  should 
covet  this  office." 

"Why,  father,  it  seems  to  me  it's  very  plain  to  be 
seen  why  it  would  be  a  most  desirable  office.  First 
of  all,  there's  the  salary — regularly — besides — oth 
er  things.  The  work  won't  require  all  my  time. 

[2] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

Through  a  partner — on  the  quiet,  you  know — 1 
could  keep  all  the  practice  I've  already  secured. 
Then  there's  the  advertisement  it  will  be  for  me. 
One  term  as  prosecuting  attorney  will  make  me 
known  further  and  better  than  a  dozen  years  of 
ordinary  practice.  It  seems  to  me  there's  a  multi 
tude  of  reasons  for  accepting  the  nomination,  if 
it's  offered,  or  work  to  get  it,  if  it  isn't.  I  fail  to 
see  any  reason  against  it." 

The  father  looked  straight  at  the  young  man, 
his  face  falling  into  stern  lines,  his  eyes  darkening. 
He  stopped  abruptly.  "What  sort  of  talk  is  this? 
Have  you  forgotten  your  mother's  horror  of  capital 
punishment?  I  don't  believe  she'd  live  through  it 
if,  through  your  work,  a  man,  or  a  woman,  should 
suffer  this  penalty.  Better  do  as  she  has  often 
urged :  go  to  the  legislature,  instead,  and  work  for 
the  repeal  of  this  law." 

"I  know,  of  course,  that  mother  has  a  prejudice 
against  the  death  penalty." 

"Prejudice!  Your  mother  is  as  free  from  preju 
dice  against  anything  as  any  human  being  can  pos 
sibly  be.  For  a  lawyer,  you  are  notably  careless 
in  your  selection  of  words,  or  you  have  no  concep 
tion  of  your  mother's  character." 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  prejudice.  I'll  say  she's  too 
sympathetic — too  tenacious  of  early  impressions — 
too " 

"There's  no  need  of  amplifying.    Yonder  comes 

[3] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

the  effect  of  her  too  ready  sympathy — of  one  of 
her  early  impressions.  Can  you  look  at  your  broth 
er  and  then  put  yourself  in  position  to  enforce  a 
law  that  may  be  instrumental  in  producing  like  con 
sequences  for  other  mothers?" 

The  young  man's  face  flushed  and  paled,  and 
he  made  no  answer.  Two  other  young  men  came 
from  the  house,  across  the  lawn,  and  joined  them. 
Of  these  two,  the  older  one  was  much  more  like 
his  father  than  either  of  the  others.  He  was  a 
trifle  taller  than  the  ambitious  lawyer,  he  had  the 
same  steadfast  eyes  as  his  father,  the  same  gentle, 
full  voice,  the  same  protecting,  considerate  air,  as 
he  regarded  the  frail,  slender,  inferior  brother  who 
walked  with  him.  The  youngest  of  the  three,  but 
for  a  certain  family  likeness,  would  never  have  been 
suspected  of  near  relationship  to  his  stalwart  father 
and  brothers.  In  comparison  he  was  like  a  slim, 
quivering,  pale  green  aspen  growing  beside  strong 
cedars.  His  movements  were  uncertain,  and  every 
tiniest  blue  vein  was  outlined  in  his  face,  neck,  and 
hands.  And,  most  pitiful  of  all,  there  was  a  con 
tinually  recurring  spasm  in  his  throat,  as  when  the 
process  of  swallowing  is  interrupted  by  a  violent 
hiccough.  Strangely  enough,  this  spasm  did  not 
interfere  with  speaking,  except  to  cause  a  slight 
hesitation.  One  not  looking  at  him  would  not  know 
it  was  happening.  Many  persons  are  equally  slow 
of  utterance.  He  was  talking  and  laughing  as  they 

[4] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

came,  and  when  they  reached  the  others  the  older 
brother  said,  jovially: 

"Listen  to  this,  father,  Dan !  Paul  says  Frances 
and  Lois  will  have  to  be  separated  with  a  barbed- 
wire  fence  if  we  can't  manage  some  compromise 
about  their  clubs.  There's  a  sparring  match  when 
ever  they  meet,  concerning  the  merits  of  'The  La 
dies'  Own'  and  'The  Daughters  of  Endeavor.' ' 

"Ah!  these  clubs!"  Dan  exclaimed.  "I  wish 
Frances  would  drop  it  all.  But  how  about  the  other 
little  maid  from  school  ?  Doesn't  Mrs.  Basil  Dray- 
ton  go  to  clubs  nowadays?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Basil  answered  indifferently,  "but  you 
see  Laura  has  baby  to  tend,  and  she  tries  to  help 
mother  in  the  matter  of  arbitration.  We  left  them 
at  their  wits'  end  as  to  how  to  keep  the  peace  be 
tween  Frances  and  Lois."  And  again  he  laughed. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Dan  asked,  with  a  frown. 

"You  see,"  said  Paul,  in  his  hesitating  way,  the 
spasms  catching  in  his  throat  at  regular  intervals, 
"it's  about  the  close  of  the  club  year,  and  each  one 
has  been  telling  what  superior  subjects  they  have 
selected  for  next  year,  and  what  superior  women 
they  have  to  handle  them.  Each  one  insists  that 
the  membership  of  her  own  club  is  the  cream  of  the 
town." 

"So  silly !"  Dan  said.  "Seems  to  me,  Lois  ought 
to  consider " 

"What,  Dan?"  Basil  asked,  looking  his  brother 

[5] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

squarely  in  the  face.    "Come!  Say  why  Lois  should 
consider  anything  more  than  Frances!" 

"Lois  is  in  her  father's  house " 

"And  Frances  is  in  her  father-in-law's  house. 
Come,  be  reasonable !  My  wife  is  there,  too.  She 
doesn't  expect  any  more  consideration  than  she 
gives." 

"Laura's  older." 

"She  is  a  trifle  older  than  Frances  now,  but  when 
she  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  saucy  sister- 
in-law  she  was  a  year  or  two  younger  than  Frances 
is  now.  The  two  have  always  been  the  best  of 
friends.  Laura  says  that  Lois  takes  the  place  of 
her  own  young  sister,  and  so  she  would  with  Fran 
ces,  if  allowed." 

"That's  all  well  enough  for  talk,  but  you  know, 
as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  us,  that  Lois  is  a  pert, 

spoiled  girl,  and " 

"Ah  1  stop  it !  Stop  it  at  once !"  the  older  broth 
er  exclaimed,  and  the  youngest  of  the  three  opened 
his  eyes  very  wide,  while  his  color  came  and  went 
in  swift  waves,  and  the  spasms  in  his  throat  grew 
quicker  and  more  violent. 

The  father  looked  at  Dan  searchingly  for  a  mo 
ment.  "You  may  be  right,  Dan.  Lois  may  be 
what  is  usually  understood  to  be  a  spoiled  child,  but 
I'm  sure  you'll  never  find  a  more  loving  and  gen 
erous  girl  than  she  is.  Her  sense  of  right,  too,  is 

developed  to  a  high  degree " 

[6] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

Dan  laughed  as  he  interrupted :  "Yes.  her  sense 
of  her  own  rights.  I'll  admit  she  stands  up  for  her 
own  most  valiantly." 

"The  rights  of  others,  too.  Lois  is  never  unjust. 
I  can  fully  understand  how  you  feel  towards  your 
wife,  but  even  in  her  favor  you  should  not  always 
condemn  your  sister." 

"Oh,  I  don't  condemn  Lois,  but  it  seems  to  me 
she  ought  to  remember  that  Frances  came  here  a 

stranger,  and There,  Basil,  Laura's  calling 

you !  Let's  all  go  in !" 

So  they  all  went,  in  answer  to  a  slim,  girlish  fig 
ure  on  the  side  veranda,  and  a  white-clad,  two- 
year-old  baby,  who  came  stumbling  across  the  lawn 
to  meet  them. 

Basil  Drayton  caught  up  the  child  and  tossed  him 
in  his  arms.  He  was  "Papa's  baby,"  and  "Papa's 
little  man,"  and  the  clear,  soft  eyes  of  the  child, 
dewy  with  recent  sleep,  were  an  exact  copy  of  the 
young  father's  own. 

Laura  waited  at  the  steps  till  the  party  came  up. 
"How  full  of  odor  the  air  is,"  she  said.  "I  think 
there's  no  place  as  lovely  as  this  in  the  spring." 

"Yes,  it's  a  nice  old  home,"  her  father-in-law 
answered.  "Mother  must  come  out  before  dark, 
and  see  how  beautifully  the  borders  of  tulips  are 
coming  on." 

The  mother  was  sadly  out  of  tone  with  her  sur 
roundings.  The  first  impression  she  gave  to  observ- 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ing  strangers  was  what  might  be  experienced  on 
seeing  some  beautiful  plant,  or  tree,  blighted;  some 
fine  mansion  in  ruins ;  anything  lovely  that  had  met 
disaster.  Her  hair,  that  lay  in  wavy  abundance 
about  her  head,  was  snow  white.  Her  eyes,  of  so 
dark  a  blue  as  to  pass,  in  anything  but  a  strong 
light,  for  black,  wore  the  expression  of  the  Mater 
Dolorosa.  Her  complexion  was  white  and  lifeless, 
more  the  color  of  a  dead  than  a  living  woman. 
Instead  of  the  plump  matron  that  the  mother  of 
three  grown  sons  should  have  been,  she  was  fragile 
and  thin,  and  her  hands  were  mere  skeletons.  As 
her  husband  and  sons  entered,  with  a  glance  and  a 
motion  of  her  hand  she  brought  Paul  to  a  chair 
by  her  side. 

The  room  was  large  and  lofty.  There  were 
slowly-burning  logs  in  the  wide  fireplace.  Low 
couches  and  window-seats,  and  many  easy-chairs, 
were  scattered  about.  The  place  was  the  large  per 
fection  of  home  and  coziness. 

"Leave  the  door  open,  Dan!"  Mrs.  Draytori 
said.  "Let  us  seem  like  summer." 

"Are  you  cold,  Frances?"  Dan  asked,  for  as  he 
set  the  door  ajar  Frances,  who  had  occupied  a 
window-seat,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and,  with  a 
shiver,  went  and  sat  by  the  fire. 

"N-n-o,"  she  drawled.  "I'll  be  warm  here," 
and  she  looked  into  the  fire  with  an  expression  of 
great  self-sacrifice. 

[8] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"I'll  bring  a  shawl  for  you !  Shall  I?"  And 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Dan  disappeared 
for  an  instant,  coming  in  with  a  zephyr  shawl, 
which  he  laid  across  the  shrugged  shoulders. 

"Oh!  are  you  cold,  Frances?"  Mrs.  Drayton 
asked.  "Close  the  door,  Dan!  Perhaps  it  is 
chilly." 

"No!  no!"  And  Baby  Fred  pushed  a  hassock 
against  the  open  door  and  sat  upon  it.  "Have  do' 
open.  Baby  see  out." 

"That  settles  the  matter,"  Mr.  Drayton  said. 
"The  tyrant  from  No-man's-land  will  have  his 
way;"  and  mentally  he  added:  "It's  just  as  well. 
Frances  systematically  opposes  whatever  seems 
pleasant  to  any  other  member  of  the  family." 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and,  as  was  the  habit 
of  the  two  married  sons,  they  had  accompanied  the 
family  home  from  church  for  dinner  and  the  after 
noon.  There  was  no  formality  about  these  Sun 
day  reunions,  no  pretense  of  entertaining.  It  was 
the  one  day  of  the  week  when  all  were  free  from 
care.  Each  felt  him  or  herself  at  home,  and  at  lib 
erty  to  read,  or  rest,  or  talk,  or  to  go  anywhere 
about  the  house. 

These  Sundays  had  always  been  looked  forward 
to  with  pleasant  anticipations  after  Basil's  marriage. 
His  wife,  native  of  another  town  in  the  State,  had 
proved  a  most  lovable  addition  to  the  family  cir 
cle.  She  was  so  truly  in  love  with  her  husband 

[9] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

there  was  none  of  the  petty  jealousy  that  so  often 
embitters  the  intercourse  of  young  wives  with  their 
relations-in-law. 

There  had  been  no  expectations  of  anything  dif 
ferent  when  Dan  brought  his  wife  home,  but  Mrs. 
Drayton,  so  finely  sensitive,  felt,  upon  first  meeting 
her  second  son's  wife,  that  here  was  an  alien,  a 
personality  entirely  foreign  to  the  life  of  the  family. 
As  often  as  there  were  disagreements  between  Fran 
ces  and  Lois,  as  there  had  been  this  day,  she  re 
minded  herself  of  these  first  impressions,  and  she 
knew  that  assimilation  with  Frances  was  well  nigh 
hopeless. 

She  had  not  seen  Dan  married.  Basil  and  Laura 
and  Lois  went  to  the  wedding,  and  all  came  home 
together  next  day.  The  father  and  mother  and 
baby  Fred  stood  at  the  door  to  receive  them.  As 
the  party  came  up  the  walk,  Mrs.  Drayton  ex 
claimed  to  her  husband:  "Oh,  Frederic!  What 
has  our  boy  done?  What  sort  of  a  common,  infe 
rior  girl  has  he  married?" 

There  was  no  time  for  answer,  save  by  a  sympa 
thetic  glance.  The  party  was  on  the  steps.  The 
bride  was  welcomed  to  her  new  home  with  kindly 
words  and  caresses,  but  Mrs.  Drayton  turned  away 
with  an  uncontrollable  grimace  on  her  delicate  face, 
which  Lois  caught,  and  answered  by  a  kiss,  a  pat  on 
the  shoulder,  and  a  soft  whisper:  "Poor  mamma  !" 

The  perfume  of  the  clothing  of  the  bride  was 
[10] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

overpowering.  She  answered  the  kindly  words  of 
welcome  with  an  indifferent  "Thank  you  very 
much,"  and  in  the  same  breath  added:  "Can  I 
go  to  my  room  at  once  ?  I'm  such  a  wreck !  Trav 
eling  is  simply  ruinous!" 

"Certainly,"  the  mother-in-law  responded.  "Lois 
will  show  you."  And  as  the  two  disappeared  she 
turned  to  Laura,  on  the  hearth-rug,  caressing  her 
baby.  "You  seem  to  have  borne  the  trip  very 
well." 

"This  little  ride?"  Laura  answered  brightly.  "It 
was  a  pleasure.  If  I  had  been  quite  sure  that  Little 
Boy  was  not  fretting  you,  I'd  have  been  perfectly 
happy.  Just  the  little  change,  you  know.  But 
mamma's  glad  to  be  home  again!"  And  she  fell 
to  caressing  her  baby  again. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  family  assembled  at 
the  dinner  table,  the  bride,  refreshed  by  rest  and 
wedding  finery,  was  vivacious,  and,  in  a  way,  rather 
pretty.  Mrs.  Drayton  had  said  no  word  of  dis 
approval  to  any  one  after  her  first  exclamation,  but 
the  impression  had  been  made,  and  the  great  im 
provement  in  the  appearance  of  the  bride  strength 
ened,  rather  than  diminished,  the  idea  of  artificial 
ity.  Next  day,  when  the  house  was  quiet — no  one 
at  home  but  herself  and  the  servants — she  unwit 
tingly  overheard  a  conversation  in  the  kitchen  that 
proved  how  others,  albeit  they  were  humble  folk, 
thought  of  her  son's  wife.  Mrs.  Drayton's  servants 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

consisted  of  a  family  of  three — husband,  wife,  and 
daughter.  They  were  refugees  from  a  border  South 
ern  State,  where  they  were  born  slaves.  They  had 
drifted  into  Stillwater  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War, 
at  about  the  time  that  the  Drayton  family  chose 
this  place  for  their  home.  Ezekiel  and  Cleopatra 
were  anxious  to  find  a  place  of  service  where  they 
could  remain  together  and  keep  their  little  Bett  with 
them.  Such  a  position  was  not  readily  found  in  a 
small  town,  but  after  repeated  failures,  and  grievous 
separations,  the  whole  family  became  domiciled 
with  the  Draytons,  where,  very  shortly,  it  was 
Uncle  Zeke  and  Auntie  Cleo.  Bett  was  companion, 
playfellow,  counsellor,  and  friend  of  the  children, 
while  Cleo  was  a  most  excellent  cook  and  general 
servant.  Uncle  Zeke  proved  a  black  genius  about 
the  new  home  that  was  building,  and  to  these  home 
less  ones  it  seemed  like  the  old  days  in  the  South, 
before  discontent  merged  into  war,  freedom,  hun 
ger,  and  wandering.  To  Mrs.  Drayton,  the  finding 
of  this  family  of  vagabonds  was  an  emancipation 
from  all  the  drudgery  incident  to  the  continual  chan 
ging  of  servants,  and  much  of  the  every-day  care 
of  domestic  life. 

On  this  day  she  lay  on  a  couch  in  the  family 
room.  Bett  had  come  in  softly  and  put  a  slumber- 
robe  over  her  with  gentle  touch,  and  drawing  the 
portieres,  went  back  to  the  kitchen.  As  Mrs.  Dray 
ton  closed  her  eyes  she  heard  Cleo  say :  "Bett,  dis 

[12] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

new  Missus  Dan  ain't  to  be  talked  'bout  in  dessame 
way  es  Miss  Laura  ner  any  o'  de  Drayton  folks. 
She's  cheap  truck — won't  wash,  now  you  all  min' 
dat." 

Then  came  the  sound  of  Uncle  Zeke  lumbering 
over  the  kitchen*floor.  His  mistress  laughed,  though 
tears  welled  over  her  cheeks,  as  there  came  to  her 
in  his  high-pitched  voice:  "Wat's  dat  yo'  say, 
Cleopatry  ?  Yas,  you  all's  right.  Sakes  alive !  but 
it's  a  pity.  Yo',  Bett,  w'at's  dat  yo'  sayin'  'bout 
some  stockin's?" 

"W'y,  right  away  this  morning  the  new  missus 
gave  me  a  passel  of  stockin's.  Here  dey  are.  Did 
you  all  ever  see  sich  trash  in  this  house?"  There 
was  a  pause,  and  from  the  half  words  and  ex 
clamations  Mrs.  Drayton  guessed  that  they  were 
examining  Bett's  acquisition. 

"An'  w'at  was  dat  she  said?"  Cleo  asked. 

"That  now  she  was  married,  all  her  stockin's 
must  be  of  silk,  an'  dat  de  laundry  at  de  school  had 
not  been  fit  to  trus'  with  silks.  Laws !  to  wear  sech 
common  trash  es  this,  an'  ter  jump  into  silk.  I 
don't  want  'er  old  stuff.  I'll  done  give  it  to  dem 
niggers  over  by  the  railroad.  Dere  ain't  no  call  fer 
me  to  wear  sech  stockin's.  Dey're  just  real  pore 
white  trash  stuff." 


[13] 


CHAPTER  II 

"FATHER  and  I  will  not  go  to  church  this  even 
ing.  I  feel  unusually  weary.  You  and  Paul  go." 

"I'm  sorry,  mamma,"  Lois  answered.  It  was  a 
peculiarity  of  Lois  that  in  many  ways  she  was  quite 
childish,  while  the  boys  of  the  family,  especially 
Basil  and  Dan,  were  sturdy,  manly,  and  self-reliant 
— had  been  so  from  childhood.  Even  Paul  imi 
tated  his  brothers  to  the  extent  of  his  strength. 
The  boys  had  laid  aside  with  knickerbockers  the 
names  "papa"  and  "mamma"  for  the  more  dignified 
"father"  and  "mother,"  but  they  could  not  persuade 
Lois  to  follow  their  example. 

As  she  and  Paul  left  the  house  together  Mrs. 
Drayton  said:  "Lois  and  Paul  are  quite  as  much 
alike  in  appearance  as  are  the  other  two.  I'm  so 
glad!" 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  sigh.  "In  a  way, 
it's  quite  fortunate.  The  relationship,  or  lack  of 
it,  has  never  been  questioned,  never  will  be,  for  lack 
of  resemblance.  I  only  wish  Paul  might  have  been 
as  bright  and  capable  as  Lois." 

"Since  he  is  not,  we  must  do  all  that  we  can 
to  make  up  his  deficiencies.  I  feel  my  responsibility 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

for  them  constantly.  Sometimes  I  think  I  was  too 
intensely  proud  of  my  first  two  boys.  I  had  to  have 
something  to  bear  to  teach  me  to  sympathize  with 
weaker  women." 

"My  dear,  if  you  had  not  been  so  intensely  sym 
pathetic,  Paul  would  not  be  what  he  is,  nor  would 
we  have  had  Lois  as  she  is,  quite  our  own." 

"You  don't  regret  Lois?" 

"No!  oh,  no! — not  as  far  as  our  own  relation 
with  her  is  the  question.  I  don't  see  now — have 
not  been  able  to  see  for  many  years — how  an  own 
daughter  could  have  been  more  to  us.  But  we 
would  not  have  the  same  fear,  the  same  responsi 
bility,  nor  the  same  task,  some  time  in  the  future, 
for  our  own  that  we  have  for  Lois.  I  confess  I 
shrink  from  the  enlightening,  some  day,  of  the  man 
who  comes  to  marry  her." 

"Enlightening  the  man  who  comes  to  marry 
her?"  Mrs.  Drayton  repeated  questioningly.  "I 
never  dreamed  of  anything  of  the  kind.  That  might 
be  the  means  of  undoing  all  we  have  done  for  her. 
She  is  ours.  She  is  more  than  the  equal  of  any 
man  you  or  I  have  ever  known,  in  all  the  qualities 
that  go  to  make  an  admirable  character.  Whenever 
Lois  goes  out  of  this  house  as  any  man's  wife  she 
goes  as  my  daughter.  The  good  God  knows,  if  He 
knows  anything,  that  the  travail  and  sorrow  I  en 
dured  in  coming  into  possession  of  her,  was  more 
than  I  suffered  in  giving  birth  to  our  three  boys." 

[15] 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

"Well,  dear,  I  guess  you  are  right,  and  I  leave 
it  with  you  to  decide.  I'll  stand  by  whatever  you 
say  or  do  in  the  matter,  and  I'll  stand  by  Lois." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  The  fire 
glowed  cheerily,  the  shaded  lamp  in  the  farthest  cor 
ner  only  served  to  warm  and  soften  the  atmosphere 
of  the  wide  room. 

The  husband  and  wife  sat  on  either  side  of 
a  table  drawn  near  the  hearth,  and  the  door  stood 
open. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Drayton  said : 

"Oh,  did  you  say  anything  to  Dan  to-day  about 
running  for  the  office  of  prosecutor?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  drawling  reply;  "I  tried  to  talk 
to  him." 

"Ah!  you  tried?  What  is  happening  to  Dan? 
He  isn't  himself.  I  was  always  so  proud  of  his 
ambition.  I  was  glad  when  he  decided  to  read  law 
instead  of  going  into  business  with  you  and  Basil. 
I  felt  that  my  name  for  him  would  be  justified,  that 
he  would  really  be  Judge  Dan  some  day.  His  mind 
was  always  so  clear,  he  had  such  a  quick  perception 
of  motive,  and  with  it  all  he  showed  always  such 
exceptional  ideas  of  justice.  I  felt  that  in  his  hands 
the  law  would  be  fairly  administered.  But  for 
some  little  time,  now,  I  cannot  clearly  see  the  trend 
of  his  behavior." 

"If  he  had  not  married — just  now." 

"Say  if  he  had  married  differently.  Dan  is  so 
[16] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

constituted  that  he  is  easily  influenced  by  women. 
See  how  docile  he  used  to  be  with  Lois,  and  how 
fond  he  was  of  Laura !  Now,  though  Frances  is 
not  nearly  so  attractive  personally  as  either  one  of 
our  other  girls,  not  as  bright  nor  generally  intelli 
gent,  yet  he  is  quite  under  her  control,  and  is  ready 
for  a  spat  at  the  least  discontented  look  of  hers. 
I  am  sure  he  is  being  harried  and  worried  on  the 
matter  of  money." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  Frances  has  no  idea  of  any 
success  in  life  save  that  gained  by  the  show  that 
money  can  make." 

"Money  is  the  great  necessity;  but  Dan's  doing 
well;  and  Frances  was  a  poor  girl,  working  in  this 
girls'  school,  for — not  much  of  a  salary,  and  I've 
never  heard  that  her  people  have  helped  her  in  any 
way,  not  even  to  a  housekeeping  outfit." 

"No;  she  didn't  come  to  us  in  the  fashion  that 
Laura  did;  but  that's  a  small  matter,  something 
that  can  easily  be  pardoned,  if  she  were  not  so  domi 
neering  in  so  many  ways ;  and  she  is  determined  to 
keep  her  own  people  in  the  background.  What  her 
reasons  are  I  cannot  guess." 

"Perhaps  it  is  best  for  all  concerned  if  we  make 
no  further  acquaintance  with  the  Caylor  family. 
There  may  be  nothing  really  objectionable  about 
them,  and  yet  there  are  very  few  families  that 
haven't  something  in  their  history  they  would  most 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

willingly  conceal — even  ourselves."  And  Mr.  Dray- 
ton  glanced  smilingly  at  his  wife. 

"Yes,  and  we'll  conceal  it,  too,"  Mrs.  Draytcn 
answered  quietly.  Then  continuing,  she  said:  "By 
the  way,  dear,  this  young  Mr.  Hale,  who  has  been 
quite  attentive  to  Lois  lately — do  you  know  any 
thing  about  him?  Where  is  he  from?" 

"I  know  next  to  nothing  about  him.  I  think 
he's  been  here  about  a  year.  He  seemed  to  be  popu 
lar  amongst  the  young  folks,  and,  I  believe,  he  has 
approached  Dan  with  overtures  for  a  partnership." 

"Oh!  has  he?  Perhaps  that  explains  his  atten 
tion  to  Lois." 

Mr.  Drayton  laughed.  "My  dear,  you  are  ex 
ceedingly  worldly.  I  see  no  difficulty  in  understand 
ing  why  any  young  man  with  eyes  in  his  head  should 
try  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  Lois.  I  don't 
believe  you  know  how  pretty  she  is." 

"Yes,  I'm  well  aware  of  her  beauty;  but  this 
man  Hale — the  name,  you  know,  associated  as  it 
is  with  the  time  of  trouble.  I  must  ask  Dan  to  find 
out  something  about  him." 

"As  to  that,  Hale  is  a  common  name,  and  it's 
not  likely  that  this  young  fellow  is  anything  to 
Governor  Hale.  That's  what  you  refer  to  ?" 

"Yes,  and  the  fact  that  he  is  a  lawyer,  as  Gov 
ernor  Hale  was." 

"But  Governor  Hale  was  quite  wealthy,  twenty 
years  ago.    It's  hardly  likely  that  a  son  of  his  would 
[18] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

be  so  far  from  home,  with  no  appearance  of  wealth, 
and  looking  up  a  partner  as  if  he  meant  to  locate 
here." 

"I'm  sure  the  young  man  is  well  born  and  well 
bred,  and  he  may  have  very  good  reasons  for  liv 
ing  here.  You  see,  there  are  some  thousands  of 
more  or  less  reputable  folks  living. here  in  Still- 
water,"  and  Mrs.  Drayton  laughed.  "Do  you  think 
Dan  will  form  a  partnership  with  Mr.  Hale  ?" 

"I've  no  idea.  It  may  be  that  his  election  to 
the  office  of  prosecutor  will  have  something  to  do 
with  it.  He  will  want  to  make  some  provision  to 
hold  the  practice  he  has  secured,  and  this  could  be 
done  within  the  law  with  an  honorable  man." 

"I  feel  that  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  have 
Dan  in  the  position  of  prosecutor  as  long  as  the 
laws  relating  to  the  death  penalty  are  as  they  are. 
I  must  talk  to  him." 

"Better  talk  to  Frances.  You'll  find  she's  the 
great  majority  in  that  house." 

"I'll  talk  to  both  at  the  same  time." 

The  gate  was  heard  to  open  and  close,  quick 
steps  came  up  the  walk,  voices  in  conversation  were 
heard,  and  a  rippling  laugh  floated  on  the  still  air; 
and  then,  bringing  with  them  a  breath  of  freshness, 
an  odor  of  spring,  Lois  and  Paul  came  in. 

As  they  stood  in  the  softened  light  they  were 
much  alike.  The  slender  figures,  the  delicate  com 
plexions,  the  blue  eyes,  though  those  of  the  girl 

[19] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

were  several  shades  lighter  than  Paul's,  which  were 
a  reproduction  of  his  mother's — all  these  traits 
made  them  the  typical  brother  and  sister. 

"Ah,  you  should  have  heard  Dr.  Milford's  talk 
this  evening,"  Lois  said,  as  she  seated  herself  on 
the  arm  of  Mr.  Drayton's  chair.  "I  was  so  glad 
Dan  was  there.  He  wants  to  be  district  attorney, 
you  know.  Whether  he  ever  is,  or  not,  he'll  know 
what  one  man  thinks  of  some  of  the  laws." 

"But,  Lois,"  Paul  faltered,  "Dan  may  be  prose 
cutor  and  never  have  to  deal  with  a  murder  case. 
You  know,  murders  are  not  common  in  this  county." 

"Of  course  it  may  happen  that  way;  but  I'm  sure 
if  he  goes  into  the  office  with  such  motives  as  I've 
heard  Frances  express,  he'll  have  a  bad  time  of  it. 
None  of  the  rest  of  the  family  approve  of  it.  Dan's 
doing  well  now,  and  if  he  doesn't  let  well  enough 
alone  he'll  be  sure  to  turn  out  like  the  villain  in 
the  play  and  in  the  old-fashioned  romances;  now 
you'll  see." 

"What  was  Dr.  Milford's  subject?"  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton  asked. 

"His  text  was  from  the  parable  of  the  wheat  and 
the  tares.  He  read  the  whole  story,  and  talked 
from  it.  Dan  listened  very  intently ;  but  Frances — 
oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  could  see  anything  honest  or  sin 
cere  about  her!"  and  Lois  left  her  place  on  the 
chair  arm  and  impatiently  threw  her  hat  and  jacket 
on  the  couch. 

[20] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"My  dear,  take  care !"  Mr.  Drayton  said  ten 
derly,  as  the  girl  moved  a  low  chair  close  beside 
him.  "Don't  be  unjust  to  this  that  seems  like  a 
'tare'  amongst  us.  We  must  try  to  understand  her 
better." 

"I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton,  "if  we  could  know 
something  of  her  own  people,  preferably  her  moth 
er,  we  would  understand  Frances.  We  would  know 
in  what  degree  these  airs  of  superiority  are  justi 
fiable." 

"I  cannot  imagine  any  justification  in  any  de 
gree.  They  are  simply  insolent.  A  superior  per 
son  has  no  need  of  assuming  so  much,"  Lois  said 
emphatically. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Mr.  Drayton,  with  seri 
ous  deliberation,  "perhaps  Frances  belongs  to  some 
very  fine  people.  Perhaps  her  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters  live  in  much  better  fashion  than  we  do. 
That,  with  her,  would  mean  very  much.  There's 
a  great  deal  of  wealth  and  culture  in  Montpelier. 
It's  a  fine  old  French  town  from  which  she  hails. 
Who  knows?  It  may  be  that  her  people  are  the 
best  of  all." 

"Papa,  you're  joking !  You  know  very  well  that 
If  her  people  were  not — something  to  be  ashamed 
of,  they'd  have  been  at  her  wedding;  or,  better  still, 
she'd  have  been  married  at  her  father's  house  in 
stead  of  in  a  boarding-house  parlor.  Of  course, 
the  boarding-house  belongs  to  her  aunt,  and — it's 

[21] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

common.  Still,  it  must  be  better  than  her  own 
home,  only  twenty  miles  away.  I  would  like,  just 
for  my  own  satisfaction,  to  have  a  peep  at  her  own 
home,  and  her  father  and  mother." 

"It  isn't  so  far  away.  Why  don't  you  go  and 
see  them?"  Paul  asked.  "Go  incog.  Take  some 
other  name.  Play  you're  a  girl  who  went  to  school 
with  or  to  Frances." 

"Oh!  I  will!  I'll  be  Miss  Jones,  Brown,  or 
Robinson!  I'll  be  a  book  agent.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Caylor  will  patronize  me.  Frances  has  several  sub 
scription  books  in  her  collection." 

"How  jolly  that  would  be !"  and  Paul  laughed, 
while  the  spasms  in  his  throat  seemed  to  be  quelled 
by  his  merriment. 

"But  what  would  Dan  say,  if  he  knew  it?"  Lois 
said. 

"He  ought  to  say  'thank  you'  to  anybody  who 
would  look  up  matters  that  he  should  have  inquired 
into  before  he  married  the  girl,"  said  Mr.  Drayton. 
"It  was  my  understanding,  until  just  before  the 
marriage,  that  Frances  was  an  orphan,  and  had 
been  provided  for  by  this  aunt." 

"It  was  the  understanding  we  all  had,"  said  Mrs. 
Drayton.  "Really,  I  don't  know  how  much  or  how 
little  Dan  knew  of  the  family,  but  he  had  always 
been  so  capable  of  taking  care  of  his  own  affairs,  I 
never  thought  of  inquiring  closely.  I  never  dreamed 
of  him  going  into  marriage  in  such  blindfolded  fash- 

[22] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ion.  Long  before  there  was  an  engagement  be 
tween  them  he  showed  me  a  picture  of  Frances, 
grouped  with  some  of  the  members  of  this  school. 
He  was  acquainted  slightly  with  all." 

"By  the  way,  mother,"  Paul  asked,  "how  did 
Dan  come  to  have  so  much  time  in  Salem?" 

"You  remember  he  assisted  a  law  firm  in  a  case 
there.  After  that  was  over,  of  course  Frances  was 
the  attraction." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember." 

"Dan  used  to  be  amused  by  my  reading  of  the 
photographs  of  his  acquaintances  whom  I  never 
saw.  He  showed  me  this  group,  of  which  Frances 
was  one,  and  asked  me,  in  a  boyish  way,  'What 
about  them  ?  Which  one  is  my  girl  ?'  I  read  their 
faces,  without  knowing  their  names  till  later.  I 
said  of  Frances :  'This  girl  is  secretive.'  Dan  said: 
'Yes,  I  think  probably  Miss  Caylor  is  inclined  to 
be  reticent.'  I  told  him  that  was  not  the  word. 
She  was  secretive  in  the  strongest  sense  of  the 
term." 

"Yes;  and  mamma,  the  real  reason  why  she's  so 
pugnacious  is  that  she's  determined  to  make  a  show 
of  superiority.  See  the  way  she's  treated  our  old 
est  and  best  friends !  Oh,  I'm  going  to  find  out 
her  origin,  now  you  see  if  I  don't!  I'll  play  no 
tricks,  mamma — you  needn't  shake  your  head.  I'll 
go  sketching  in  the  neighborhood  of  Montpelier. 
That's  what  Paul  and  I'll  do  next  summer." 

03] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Now  that  won't  be  bad  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Dray- 
ton.  "There's  beautiful  scenery,  two  or  three  small 
lakes  where  there's  fine  fishing,  and  many  other  at 
tractions  in  the  county.  We'll  make  up  a  party. 
There  are  club  houses  and  hotels  near  the  lakes, 
and  we'll  ask  Frances  to  join  us.  I'm  quite  with 
you,  girlie.  I  think  we  can  make  this  still  hunt 
for  Dan's  relations-in-law  quite  interesting  and 
plausible." 


[24] 


CHAPTER  III 

LAURA  and  Lois  Drayton  were  walking  leisurely 
along  one  of  the  most  beautiful  streets  of  the  town. 
Maple  trees  of  a  quarter  century's  growth  lined  the 
street,  shading  the  walks  and  a  wide  border  of  the 
driveway.  The  girlish  mother  and  her  girl  sister- 
in-law  trundled  the  cab  of  baby  Fred  ahead  of 
them,  picking  dandelion  blossoms  from  the  grassy 
borders  to  keep  his  restless  fingers  busy.  The  two 
were  deeply  engrossed  with  their  subject,  but  they 
were  very  congenial,  and  conversation  never 
dragged  between  them. 

"Has  mamma  said  anything  to  Dan  about  this 
political  effort?" 

"No,  I  guess  not,  but  she's  going  to.  It'll  be  of 
no  use — Dan'll  do  as  Frances  says." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Such  a  shame,  knowing,  as 
she  dees,  why  mamma  feels  so  strongly  in  the  mat 
ter Look!  Who's  that  coming  out  of  Mrs. 

Dever's  door?  It's  the  first  time  I've  seen  a  sign 
of  life  at  that  house!  What  a  graceful  figure!" 

They  were  passing  a  house  that  was  surrounded 
by  wide  lawns,  old  trees,  and  much  ragged  shrub- 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

bery.  About  the  borders  of  the  ground  there  were 
the  remains  of  what  had  been  beds  of  flowers.  The 
lawns  were  neglected,  and  strewn  with  the  with 
ered  grass  of  many  seasons.  The  walks  were  un- 
swept,  and  overgrown  with  lichen,  and  about  the 
whole  place  there  was  an  air  of  neglect  and  decay. 
The  house  itself,  with  closed  window-blinds,  might 
have  been  unoccupied,  but  there  was  that  certain 
air  about  it  that  told,  in  spite  of  forbidding  appear 
ances,  that  human  creatures  were  within. 

In  the  back  part,  on  the  second  story,  two  or  three 
of  the  faded  green  blinds  were  bowed,  and  a  tiny 
plume  of  blue  smoke  from  an  unobtrusive  chimney 
told  of  a  slow  wood  fire. 

As  Laura  spoke,  Lois  half  stopped,  and  looked 
toward  the  house.  Her  fair,  sensitive  face  flushed 
and  faded  by  turns  as  she  said: 

"Surely,  that's  Nan !  Poor,  dear  Nan !  I  won 
der  what  has  happened  to  bring  her  home?" 

So  intent  was  Lois  that  she  stopped  and  stared 
at  the  figure  coming  down  the  steps  of  the  veranda. 

By  her  action  the  veiled  woman  seemed  to  un 
derstand  that  she  was  observed.  She  turned  ab 
ruptly  into  a  narrow  walk  that  led  to  a  side  gate, 
and  passed  from  view  amongst  the  shrubbery. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  Laura  asked  as  they  re 
sumed  their  walk. 

"You've  heard  us  speak  of  Anna  Dever?" 

"Yes;  the  daughter  of  the  queer  recluse  who 
[26] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

lives  here.  Let  me  see,  what  was  it  Mrs.  Ames 
told  me?  The  girl  ran  away,  or  married  against 
her  mother's  wishes.  Was  that  it?" 

"Yes.  At  least  she  ran  away.  Nan  was  so  beau 
tiful!  Do  you  know,  we  thought  Dan  liked  her 
pretty  well ;  but  you  know  Dan.  He's  good-looking 
and  entirely  up-to-date.  He  was  always  popular 
with  all  the  girls,  and  he  and  Nan  had  known  each 
other  ever  since  we  were  all  children.  Let's  see, 
it's  about  four  years  since  she  disappeared,  in  the 
usual  romantic  way,  leaving  a  note  to  say  that  she 
and  Jack  Hammel  loved  each  other,  and  would  be 
married  by  the  time  they  were  missed.  Letters 
have  come,  so  the  boys  at  the  post  office  told  Dan, 
for  Mrs.  Dever,  but  it  is  not  known  certainly  that 
they  were  from  Nan.  It  is  known,  however,  that 
no  mail  has  gone  from  here  to  her.  Everybody 
knows  that  Jack  Hammel  was  not  allowed  to  enter 
Mrs.  Dever's  house,  nor  Nan  to  go  out  with  him, 
but  in  spite  of  that  they  met  sometimes,  and  man 
aged  to  plan  an  elopement." 

uDid  Dan  mind  it?" 

"In  a  way,  yes;  but  I  think  he  was  piqued  at 
the  way  Nan  had  treated  him — making  him  a  decoy 
duck,  you  see.  He  and  Nan  had  for  some  time 
been  members  of  the  Stillwater  Dancing  Club,  and 
for  several  terms  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  tak 
ing  her  to  dances  and  seeing  her  home.  Mrs. 
Dever  was  always  very  kind  to  him.  She's  a  proud, 
[27] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

exclusive  woman,  and  had  never  permitted  Nan  to 
go  out  with  any  of  the  boys,  as  most  of  the  girls  did, 
even  while  they  were  still  in  short  dresses.  She 
always  went  with  Nan  herself.  At  first,  and  for 
quite  a  long  time,  Dan  walked  home  with  both. 
Then  he'd  call  for  them  to  go.  It  happened,  one 
evening,  Mrs.  Dever  had  to  go  somewhere  to  meet 
a  church  committee,  or  something,  and  Dan  was 
left  to  take  Nan  home  alone.  So,  gradually,  the 
two  were  allowed  to  go  and  come  as  they  pleased. 
They  had  been  to  a  club  dance  on  that  particular 
last  evening,  and  on  their  return  Mrs.  Dever  re 
ceived  them,  as  usual.  Everything  was  as  usual. 
Next  morning,  while  we  were  at  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Dever's  Polly,  who  has  been  with  her  so  many  years 
that  she  has  no  other  name  that  I  ever  heard,  came 
to  ask  if  Dan  was  at  home,  and  if  he  was,  to  come 
and  see  Mrs.  Dever  at  once.  So  in  the  course  of 
the  day  we  learned  that  Miss  Nan  had  disap 
peared." 

"Had  no  one  suspected  that  she  and  Hammel 
were  lovers?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  they  were  never  known  to  meet, 
excepting  at  parties,  and  places  where  there  was 
no  privacy,  and  occasionally  they  were  seen  on  the 
street  together.  There  isn't  now,  and  I  guess  there 
never  was,  a  girl  in  Stillwater  who  could  create  a 
greater  sensation  by  running  away  with  a  lover  than 
did  Anna  Dever ;  and  people  who  know  her  mother 
[28] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

best  have  not  been  in  the  least  surprised  that  she 
has  made  a  hermit  of  herself." 

"She's  been  a  widow  a  long  time,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes ;  that  is,  she's  supposed  to  be  a  widow.  Mr. 
Dever  went  away  on  a  business  trip — oh,  long  ago, 
and  never  came  back.  It  is  supposed  that  he  was 
murdered.  Mrs.  Dever  has  never  lost  faith  in 
him.  She  always  said  that  if  he  was  alive  he  would 
surely  come  home." 

"Was  this  man  Hammel  nice?" 

"N-o,  not  nice.  Jack  was  handsome,  in  a  sort 
of  brigandish  way,  tall,  with  dark  hair,  big  brown 
eyes,  and  heavy  dark  mustache.  I  never  fancied 
him  especially.  He  always  gave  me  the  impression 
that  he  had  but  one  suit  of  underwear." 

Laura  laughed.  "Why?  Wasn't  he  of  cleanly 
appearance?" 

"Y-e-s,  but  I  had  the  impression,  a  sort  of 
squeamish  feeling,  that  the  appearance  was  all.  I 
never  liked  to  dance  with  him.  In  some  ways  he 
was  too  familiar.  Dan  said  I  was  cranky,  and  like 
an  old  maid,  and  lots  of  things  like  that;  but  one 
day  Jack  happened  to  join  me  on  the  street,  and 
walk  to  the  gate  with  me,  and  Boss  Dan  was  quite 
sour  about  it — asked  me  if  Hammel  had  got  a  new 
suit  of  underwear,  etc.  You  see,  nobody  really 
knew  anything  about  him.  He  said,  in  a  large,  re 
served  sort  of  way,  that  his  people  lived  in  Chicago. 
For  all  that  he  told,  he  might  as  well  have  located 
[29] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

them  in  Jerusalem.  Sometimes  he  drank  too  much. 
Still,  in  many  ways  he  was  agreeable,  and  most  of 
the  young  folks  liked  him.  He  was  a  salesman  in 
Purdy's  store,  and  was  quite  satisfactory,  so  they 
told  papa." 

They  stopped  at  Laura's  gate.  "Good-bye,  sweet 
heart!  Kiss  auntie,"  said  Lois,  as  she  stooped  over 
the  child. 

"You  won't  come  in?" 

"No,  dear;  I  must  go  home.  Mamma  hasn't 
been  quite  well  lately.  Come  to  the  club  meeting 

to-morrow Oh!  how  do?"  and  there  was  a 

quick  rise  of  color  in  the  dainty  face  as  Lois  raised 
her  head  from  over  Fred  to  greet  a  young  man  who 
was — not  handsome  in  the  brigandish  fashion  she 
had  described. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Drayton?"  the  young 
man  said;  "and  how  is  the  small  captain?"  stooping 
to  pet  the  child.  "You  happy  fellow,"  he  contin 
ued,  "to  have  two  such  attendants,  while  I  walk 
alone!  May  I  go  your  way,  Miss  Drayton?" 

"Certainly;  I'll  be  glad  of  your  company."  And 
the  two  walked  away  together. 

Laura  looked  after  them,  a  smile  breaking  on 
her  lips  and  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes.  She  leaned  over 
the  cab. 

"What  oo  fink,  Mistah  Fred?    Little  oo's  going 
to  have  very  nice  uncle  one  of  these  fine  days." 
[30] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Unca  Dan  nice,  Unca  Paul  nice,"  lisped  the 
baby. 

"Yes,  and  Unca  Phil  Hale's  nice,  too,  isn't  he?" 

"Nes,  Unca  P'il  Hale  nice,  too.  Baby  dot  many 
uncas — four,  five,  sic  uncas." 

That  evening  the  topic  of  conversation  in  many 
of  the  homes  in  Stillwater  was  the  return  of  Anna 
Dever;  or  was  she  Anna  Hammel?  Who  could 
tell?  It  had  been  a  nine-days'  wonder  when  she 
went  away  four  years  ago,  and  now  that  she  had 
returned  to  her  old  home  it  would  be  wondered 
about  until  the  reason  of  her  coming  was  known. 
Had  she  been  invited  home?  If  not,  would  her 
mother  receive  her? 

Next  day,  at  the  meeting  of  "The  Daughters  of 
Endeavor,"  it  was  whispered  about  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  news.  Many  times  during  the  adjust 
ment  of  business  the  gavel  of  the  president  came 
down  sharply  to  still  the  confusion.  When  the 
paper  of  the  day  was  in  course  of  reading,  the  whis 
pering  grew  so  loud  as  at  times  to  seriously  annoy 
the  reader. 

All  this  talking  was  to  some  purpose.  The  mys 
tery  was  solved.  When  the  affairs  of  the  Dever 
family  were  talked  over  in  Stillwater  that  evening 
it  was  known  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  returned 
wanderer  was  staying  at  the  Ross  House.  She  had 
registered  as  Anna  Dever  Hammel.  So  she  had 
not  been  sent  for.  Moreover,  a  certain  reliable 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

person  had  seen  her  enter  her  mother's  grounds, 
stand  at  the  door  for  some  time,  and  then  go  away. 
Her  mother  had  not  received  her.  When  she  re 
turned  to  the  hotel  she  was  perfectly  calm,  had 
eaten  her  dinner  with  apparent  relish,  and  expressed 
satisfaction  with  her  room.  Much  of  this  was  given 
out  by  Mrs.  Marks  and  her  daughter,  who  also 
boarded  at  the  Ross  House. 

Next  day  the  "Ladies'  Own"  held  its  regular 
session  in  the  parlors  of  Mrs.  Dan  Drayton.  Here 
again  there  was  a  confusion  of  tongues,  and  ex 
changing  of  news  and  notes  and  views  gathered 
about  the  home-coming  of  Anna  Dever.  It  was 
declared  by  numbers  of  her  old  friends  that  she 
should  be  called  upon  and  taken  into  their  midst 
again. 

"But  how  will  that  suit  the  mother?"  Frances 
Drayton  asked. 

"Why  should  anyone  care  whether  it  suits  her 
or  not?  She  has  closed  her  doors  in  the  faces  of 
all  her  old  friends  and  neighbors,"  said  Mrs. 
Marks,  president  of  the  club. 

"Of  course,"  Frances  assented;  "but  then  one 
always  likes  to  keep  on  the  side  of  the  respectable 
portion  of  the  family." 

"I  see  no  reason  why  Nan  is  not  as  respectable 
as  her  mother,"  said  Lois. 

"Oh,  my!  After  a  clandestine  marriage?"  and 
Frances  looked  shocked. 

[32] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Dear  me !"  said  Mrs.  Marks.  "The  manner  of 
the  marriage  was  not  to  be  condemned.  It  was 
the  man  that  made  it  disreputable.  Many  roman 
tic  young  people  run  away  to  be  married,  and  some 
families  are  glad  of  it.  It  saves  the  expense  of 
a  trousseau  and  a  wedding.  I  hope  my  girls  will 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  elope  and  be  married." 
And  then  Mrs.  Marks  took  the  streamered  gavel, 
rapped  for  order,  and  the  business  of  the  day  went 
on. 


[33] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  Draytons,  as  a  family,  were  very  sociable. 
Their  family  dinners  and  teas  were  of  weekly  oc 
currence,  and  Frances,  the  newest  member,  had 
taken  her  share  of  the  functions,  though  it  must 
be  confessed  that  if  she  had  plainly  said  she  would 
rather  not,  it  might  have  been  more  comfortable 
sometimes.  The  difficulty  was,  not  one  of  her  hus 
band's  family  could  ever  reckon  with  exactness  on 
the  way  they  would  be  received.  The  hostess  might 
be  all  smiles  and  suavity,  the  perfect  housewife  wel 
coming  her  husband's  relations.  Again,  she  might 
be  sour  and  formal,  yet  scarcely  formal  enough  to 
Be  polite. 

On  these  occasions  she  was  invariably  in  a  quar 
relsome  mood  with  Dan. 

If  he  resented  her  innuendoes,  it  was  not  in  the 
presence  of  the  family,  save  by  frowns. 

No  one  resented  openly  anything  that  Frances 
might  say  or  do,  but  Lois.  When  Frances  and 
Laura  exchanged  opinions  on  household  matters, 
social  usage,  or  fashions  of  dress,  Frances  always 
strove  to  belittle  anything  that  Laura  might  say. 
[34] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

She  talked  down  to  her  as  is  the  manner  of  city 
people,  sometimes,  to  country  cousins.  In  this,  too, 
Frances  was  needlessly  brusque,  and  many  times 
a  harsh  laugh  or  a  disparaging  remark,  roughly 
spoken,  brought  the  color  to  Laura's  face  and  the 
tears  to  her  eyes. 

But  Lois!  One  of  Basil's  familiar  names  for 
her  was  "The  Masked  Battery."  Usually,  she  was 
all  sweetness  and  sisterly  gentleness  with  Frances, 
and  she  insisted  that  there  was  not  the  least  affec 
tation  in  it;  it  was  right  and  proper,  and  quite  in 
line  with  her  inclinations,  to  be  upon  the  very  best 
terms  with  her  brother's  wife.  But  if  Frances  tres 
passed  on  all  the  laws  of  relationship,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  ordinary  politeness,  must  all  the  family  sit 
silent  as  so  many  clams  whose  shell  had  been  closed 
by  the  weight  of  the  dignity  of  this  new  relation  ? 

"Frances,"  Lois  said  on  one  occasion,  "poses  as 
an  educator;  but  one  of  the  faults  of  the  average 
educator  is  that  he  or  she  seems  always  of  the  nature 
of  a  crawfish.  In  their  anxiety  to  get  other  people 
forward  they  invariably  go  backward  themselves. 
They  associate  so  continually  with  their  juniors  and 
those  who  have  not  worn  out  quite  so  many  text 
books  as  they  have,  they  fall  into  the  habit  of  think 
ing  there  are  no  other  grown  folks  about.  They 
try  to  treat  the  whole  world  as  a  kindergarten  or 
a  ragged  school.  Frances  squanders  too  much  time 
in  trying  to  impress  us  ordinary  Draytons  with  her 

[35] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

superiority  of  finish,  as  if  we  wouldn't  have  sense 
enough  to  find  it  out  if  'twas  really  there." 

After  this  meeting  of  the  club  in  her  parlors,  at 
which  her  mother-in-law,  Laura,  and  Lois  had  been 
present  by  invitation,  there  was  a  family  dinner. 
Frances  was  not  in  one  of  her  rare  amiable  moods. 
No  one  could  give  any  guess  as  to  the  cause  of  her 
ruffled  temper.  She  had  been  in  fine  spirits  all  the 
afternoon,  but  as  soon  as  she  was  alone  with  the 
family  she  showed  unmistakably  that  she  was  in 
a  surly  humor. 

She  was  barely,  and  icily  civil  to  Mrs.  Drayton ; 
only  loftily  conscious  of  Laura's  presence;  down 
right  snappish  to  Lois,  and  little  Fred  was  snubbed 
until  his  mother  felt  if  it  were  not  for  making  a 
scene  outright  she  would  take  her  baby  and  leave 
the  house.  Frances  had  not  sufficient  acumen  to  see 
that  she  should  not  thus  have  trampled  on  the  feel 
ings  of  people  who  had  been  bred  above  such 
behavior. 

Through  it  all,  while  Mrs.  Drayton  sat,  hurt  and 
indignant,  and  Laura  ready  to  cry,  Lois  remained 
serene.  She  inveigled  Fred  outdoors  and  walked 
all  about  the  enclosure,  from  the  door  to  the  gate 
and  back  again,  talking,  laughing,  and  running 
races  with  him,  till  her  father  and  brothers  ap 
peared;  then  went  into  the  house  with  them. 

She  could  not  refrain  from  whispering  to  Basil  : 
"The  madam's  got  her  war-paint  on.  Nobody 
[36] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

knows  why.  But  wait !  I  won't  say  anything  ex 
cepting  in  Dan's  presence." 

Basil  laughed,  drew  Lois  within  one  arm,  while 
he  carried  Fred  on  the  other,  and  so  entered  the 
parlor.  He  felt  the  chill  of  the  atmosphere  at 
once,  and  he  saw  that  Dan  felt  it,  too.  Still,  he 
greeted  Frances  affectionately,  even  stooping  to  kiss 
her,  and  remarking  on  the  becomingness  of  her 
dress,  and  adding:  "I'm  the  fellow  who  kisses  all 
the  girls,"  and  followed  with  a  caress  for  his  mother 
and  a  tweak  of  Laura's  nose. 

The  dinner  was  good,  well  cooked,  and  well 
served ;  but  the  manner  of  the  hostess  could  not  have 
been  more  forbidding.  All  through  the  dinner  she 
never  spoke  one  pleasant  or  cordial  word.  Apropos 
of  nothing,  she  mentioned  one  of  the  members  of 
the  club  who  had  reproved  her  daughter  openly  that 
afternoon.  The  girl,  who  was  recording  secretary, 
and  sat  by  a  small  table,  had  absently  tapped  a 
drinking-glass  with  the  metal  of  her  pencil,  where 
upon  the  mother  had  said,  "Mary,  stop  that!"  And 
Frances  added:  "I  never  witnessed  anything  so 
ill-bred.  A  girl  of  her  age  and  position  to  do  a 
thing  like  that  in  a  parlor!" 

"But,"  Lois  said,  "she  was  absent-minded,  and 
there  was  nothing  being  said.  Everybody  was  wait 
ing  for  everybody  else  to  say  something  about 'the 
paper,  and  no  one  seemed  to  notice  the  tapping 
until  the  mother's  reproof  drew  the  attention  of  all 
[37] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

in  the  room  to  the  offence,  and  the  poor  girl  was 
50  embarrassed." 

"So  she  ought  to  be,  the  ill-bred  creature !" 

"It  seemed  to  me  that  the  mother  made  the  great 
er  breach  of  the  two,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton. 

"What  was  she  to  do?"  Frances  snapped.  "What 
was  anyone  to  do?  Someone  must  teach  ill-man 
nered  people,  or  endure  their  blunders." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Lois  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  and  drew  her  straight  brows  to  a  meeting  as 
she  glanced  at  Basil.  "I  suppose  so,"  she  said  in 
differently,  "but  how  have  the  trainers  been  trained  ? 
Mary's  action  was  not  unpleasantly  noticeable, 
while — well,  it  doesn't  matter!"  And  turning  to 
Dan:  "How  is  the  log-rolling  coming  on?" 

"All  right,  I  guess,"  he  answered  drily. 

"What  new  slang  is  that?"  Frances  asked. 

"That's  not  really  slang,"  Dan  answered,  and 
smiled  at  his  wife.  "Surely  you  are  deep  enough 
in  the  clubs  to  understand  political  terms.  Lois 
meant  to  ask  concerning  my  prospects  for  a  nomina 
tion  next  week." 

"Indeed!  If  you  fail  to  get  this  nomination 
through  any  lack  of  work,  I  feel  as  though  I  never 
could  forgive  you,"  Frances  said  severely. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Drayton  said,  "how  can 
you  wish  him  to  have  that  office?  Of  course,  a 
nomination,  considering  the  strength  of  the  party, 
means  election.  There's  nothing  else  in  the  whole 

[38] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

list  of  offices  to  which  Dan  might  aspire  that  would 
not  be  preferable." 

"I  do  not  see  it  so,"  Frances  answered  icily. 
"That  is  in  Dan's  line.  He  has  some  reputation, 
and  the  office  of  county  prosecutor  will  surely  add 
to  it.  Then  the  income  will  be  certain." 

"But  Dan  has  plenty  of  business  now,  and  there's 
no  schedule  of  prices  to  control  a  lawyer's  fees.  Of 
course,  these  are  governed  by  a  man's  experience 
and  reputation.  He  can  put  his  own  price  on  his 
time  and  his  services.  Did  I  hear  you  say,"  turning 
to  Dan,  "that  in  case  of  accepting  the  nomination 
you  would  turn  your  business  over  to  Mr.  Hale?" 

"I'll  be  obliged  to  let  someone  have  it,  and  I 
like  Hale.  I  think  he'd  be  altogether  honorable." 

Frances  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  Dan. 

"Probably  you  would  better  arrange  for  some 
leisure,  that  you  may  enjoy  the  growing  attractions 
of  Stillwater,  and  also  have  time  for  the  renewal 
of  old  friendships." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  have  in  mind,  I'm  sure," 
Dan  said,  with  a  heavy  frown. 

The  family  had  grown  to  feel  no  surprise  at  these 
covert  hints  and  thrusts  from  Frances.  They  were 
likely  to  come  into  any  conversation.  Sometimes 
they  were  understood,  oftener  not,  and  Basil  had 
discovered  that  usually  Dan  knew ;  but  now  he  was 
sure  that  his  brother  was  mystified  with  the  rest. 
[39] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then  Lois,  with  the 
most  ingenuous  air  in  the  world,  said : 

"Frances*  remark  about  the  attractions  of  Still- 
water  sets  me  thinking.  Seems  to  me,  we  Draytons 
are  not  very  public-spirited.  We  haven't  added 
anything  that  I  can  name  to  the  attractions  of  the 
town  for — some  time — 'cepting,"  and  she  turned 
to  playfully  caress  Fred,  "'cepting  this  wee  boy  of 
ours.  He's  an  attraction." 

Basil  fidgeted  in  his  chair,  said  "Ahem !"  and  no 
one  but  himself  and  Lois  knew  that  her  skirts  had 
been  lightly  kicked  across  the  space  under  the  table ; 
but  Frances  understood  the  remark,  and  her  face 
was  red  as  flame. 

"Then,  Dan,"  said  Mr.  Drayton,  "if  you  are 
quite  determined  on  this  political  move,  I  think  we 
must  each  and  all  put  up  special  petitions  that  there 
may  be  no  murderers  to  prosecute  during  your  term 
of  office." 

"I  hope  he'll  do  thoroughly  whatever  comes  for 
him  to  do,"  Frances  said  severely.  "I  despise 
namby-pamby  men." 

"I,  too,  approve  of  thoroughness,"  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton  said  quietly,  "and  I've  never  suspected  Dan  of 
the  least  negligence  in  his  work;  but,  if  he's  elected 
to  the  office  of  prosecutor,  and  in  the  case  of  the 
worst  happening,  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  consci 
entiously  live  up  to  the  requirements  of  the  laws." 

"You  see,  mother,"  Dan  said  deliberately,  "when 

[40] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

I'm  prosecutor  I  shall  not  be  working  for  con 
science's  sake,  but  to  do  the  will  of  my  constitu 
ents." 

uOh,  Dan !"  from  Mrs.  Drayton,  and  the  father 
laid  his  salad  fork  softly  on  the  plate  and  stared 
at  his  son  with  narrowing  eyes,  as  if  seeing  him 
in  a  strong,  blinding  light. 

Laura  spoke:  "That's  a  good  joke,  Dan;  quite 
a  take-off,  really,  but  I  believe  I  don't  want  Basil 
to  go  into  politics.  I'd  rather  he'd  keep  to  his  scis 
sors  and  tape-measure." 

"Of  course,"  Frances  rejoined  loftily,  "people 
who  are  not  ambitious  had  better  keep  to  trade. 
One  can't  possibly  have  any  enthusiasm  for  mercan 
tile  work.  There  may  be  some  money  in  it,  and  if 
there's  a  great  deal,  it's  all  very  well;  but  I  want 
Dan  to  make  a  position  for  himself  and  me,  and 
plenty  of  money  besides.  This  office  will  be  a  long 
step  in  the  right  direction." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Frances,"  said  Mr. 
Drayton.  "There  are  many  things  to  be  consid 
ered  when  a  man  goes  into  politics.  Dan  knows 
how  we  feel  in  this  matter.  He  knows,  too,  that 
we  would  so  much  rather  have  had  him  in  the  leg 
islature,  working  for  the  repeal  of  certain  laws, 
than  to  put  himself  in  position  to  carry  them  out. 
I  think  that  would  have  advertised  him  quite  as 
much  as  the  other,  and  in  a  much  loftier,  more  hu 
mane  way.  It  would  have  given  him  much  experi- 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ence  that  can  be  attained  in  no  other  position,  as 
well  as  a  wide  acquaintance  through  the  State." 

"All  this,"  Frances  said,  in  the  manner  she  might 
have  used  in  speaking  to  a  class  of  half-grown  girls, 
"granting  that  he  should  be  elected  to  the  legisla 
ture." 

"That's  superfluous,  and  proves  how  little  you 
understand  the' matter!"  and  Mr.  Drayton's  voice 
was  sharp,  telling  plainly  that  his  patience  was  sore 
ly  tried.  "The  one  office  is  as  accessible  as  the 
other,  as  Dan  is  well  aware.  He  knows,  too,  the 
different  feelings  we  have  in  regard  to  the  two  posi 
tions,  and  he  knows  why  we  feel  as  we  do." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  Frances  replied  flippantly; 
"but  I  think  it's  all  wrong  for  a  man  to  allow  fam 
ily  prejudice  to  hamper  him  in  his  way  of  life,  so 
long  as  he  means  to  be  honest  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duty." 

"Well,  my  dear  girl,  if  you  only  see  it  as  family 
prejudice,  it  is  useless  to  say  anything  more.  Dan, 
that  is  the  word  you  used  the  other  day." 

"Yes,  I  did.  It  seems  Frances  and  I  agree  on 
some  things But,  I  say,  Fan,"  he  added,  jocu 
larly,  "I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  lose  a  vote  or  two 
right  at  home." 

The  party  arose  from  the  table  as  Frances  said 
breezily:  "Perhaps,  but  that  will  not  materially 
affect  your  party  majority." 

[42] 


CHAPTER  V 

MRS.  DRAYTON  said  they  would  go  home  at 
once.  The  weather  looked  threatening,  and  Paul 
had  been  complaining.  She  did  not  know  that  Paul 
was  something  of  a  diplomat.  Within  a  very  short 
time  after  he  became  brother-in-law  to  Frances  Cay- 
lor  he  was  convinced  that  she  disliked  him.  He 
would  not  grieve  his  mother  by  saying  anything 
about  it,  but  Aunty  Cleo  understood  it.  So  did 
Lois. 

Paul,  after  one  dinner  and  one  tea  at  the  new 
home  of  his  brother  Dan,  found  on  future  like  oc 
casions  that  he  was  not  quite  well,  or  something  very 
pressing  would  keep  him  at  home,  even  if  the  urgent 
matter  was  nothing  more  than  some  favorite  dish 
that  Cleo  had  arranged,  at  his  request,  to  prepare 
for  him  that  day.  On  this  evening  his  father,  moth 
er,  and  sister  came  home  early,  to  find  the  com 
plaining  one  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  at  a  little 
table,  daintily  set,  Bett  waiting  upon  him,  and  Zeke 
and  Cleo  entertaining  him  with  stories  of  the  old 
days  in  the  South.  In  answer  to  his  mother's  anx 
ious  inquiries,  Paul  assured  her  that  he  was  per- 

[43] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

fectly  well  now,  excepting  he  had  eaten  too  many 
apple  fritters. 

Basil  and  Laura  lingered,  fearing  to  seem  to  feel 
the  chill  of  Frances'  behavior  by  going  away  sooner 
than  usual.  The  brothers,  with  Fred,  walked  about 
the  small  lawn  as  they  smoked.  The  two  young 
wives  were  alone  together  in  the  parlor  that  looked 
over  the  lawn  to  the  street. 

"Mother  Drayton  makes  me  tired,"  Frances  said 
scornfully.  "This  sentimentalizing  about  the  pros 
ecutor's  work  is  all  bosh!" 

"I  don't  see  it  in  that  light,"  Laura  answered 
gently.  "It  seems  to  me  that  if  ever  a  woman  had 
reason  to  object  to  the  laws  relating  to  the  death 
penalty,  Ma  Drayton  has." 

"Why,  did  some  of  her  people  suffer  it?" 

Laura  shivered.  "Frances!  You  know! — 
haven't  I  told  you  ?" 

"You've  never  told  me  anything  that  would  war 
rant  this  silly  opposition  to  Dan's  prospects." 

"But  you  surely  know — I'm  very  sure  I  told  you 
why  Paul  is  so  unlike  his  brothers." 

"Somebody — maybe  'twas  you — 'twas  you  or 
Dan — told  me  something  about  some  unpleasant 
pre-natal  impression.  I  don't  remember  just  what 
it  was ;  but  really,  that  continual  gasping  and  chok 
ing  of  his  makes  me  sick.  I'm  glad  he  doesn't  come 
here  with  the  rest  of  the  family." 

"It  is  most  unfortunate;  but  Paul  has  been  so 
[44] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

kind  and  brotherly  to  me — he's  so  gentle,  and  af 
fectionate,  and  the  family  hold  to  each  other  so 
devotedly,  I  would  not  hurt  any  one  of  them  for 
any  price;  and  I've  grown  not  to  mind  this  pe 
culiarity.  I  feel  so  much  sympathy  for  Ma  Dray- 
ton,  too,  that  no  matter  if  I  found  Paul  objection 
able,  I'd  conceal  it." 

"I  don't  believe  in  so  much  self-sacrifice;  and  I 
think  his  mother  must  have  been  very  weak  and 
foolish  to  allow  anything  to  affect  her  in  such  a  de 
gree  as  to  ruin  her  child." 

"On  the  contrary,  Ma  Drayton  must  have  been 
very  strong  in  her  feelings  and  sympathies,  or  the 
child  would  not  have  been  affected.  You  know, 
she's  anything  in  the  world  than  a  weak  woman. 
Her  judgment  is  so  clear,  her  mind  so  active,  her 
experience  so  broad.  Really,  I  find  her  the  most 
liberally  educated  woman  I  ever  knew." 

"What  college  graduated  her?" 

"Now,  truly,"  Laura  answered,  laughing,  "I've 
never  heard.  I  think  most  probably  she  never  went 
to  college  at  all." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Frances 
asked : 

"What  had  she  to  do  with  the  execution  that  so 
affected  her?" 

"Nothing.     That  was  the  grief  of  it — that  she 
could  do  nothing  for  the  woman." 
[45] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Oh,  it  was  a  woman !  I've  never  known  of  a 
woman  being  hanged  in  this  State." 

"No,  it  was  not  here;  it  was  East,  or  not  far 
from  the  old  home,  and,  of  course,  over  twenty 
years  ago.  Paul's  past  twenty-one." 

"What  had  she  done — the  woman?" 

"She  had  killed  her  young  stepdaughter." 

"Such  a  fool  as  a  woman  is  to  marry  a  widower, 
especially  one  with  children !  Had  she  been  mar 
ried  long?" 

"Two  or  three  years,  I  think." 

"Had  she  children  of  her  own?" 

"Yes,  one — a  mere  baby." 

"What  becomes  of  children  orphaned  in  that 
way,  I  wonder?" 

"In  most  cases,  I  suppose,  they  have  relations 
who  care  for  them,  or  they  are  wards  of  the  State." 

"This  one,  of  course,  had  its  father." 

"Yes,  and  he  gave  the  baby  to  its  aunt,  the  moth 
er's  sister;  and  she,  with  her  husband,  and  several 
children  of  their  own,  and  this  little  unfortunate, 
went  away  into  the  Northwest,  or  Southwest,  I 
don't  remember  which.  Of  course,  one  can  easily 
understand  she  would  not  want  to  stay  where  she 
was  known,  after  a  tragedy  like  that  in  the  fam 
ily." 

"Was  there  any  doubt  of  the  woman's  guilt?" 

"None  whatever;  but  there  were  many  memo 
rials  and  petitions,  signed  mostly  by  women,  sent  to 
[46] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  governor  of  the  State,  asking  for  a  commuta 
tion  to  life  imprisonment.  But  after  sending  a  com 
mittee  of  medical  men  to  pronounce  upon  her  as 
to  sanity,  he  declined  to  interfere  with  the  ver 
dict." 

"I  don't  see  why  women  should  expect  to  be 
shown  more  clemency  than  men.  They  know  what 
the  laws  are,  and  they  know  the  penalties." 

"Yes;  but  human  creatures  can  be  very  provok 
ing,  sometimes,  and  very  weak,  too.  I  believe  as 
Ma  Drayton  does :  if  the  proper  provocation  is  of 
fered,  any  one  of  us  is  capable  of  doing,  in  some 
form,  anything  that  has  ever  been  done." 

"Well,  since  women  are  clamoring  for  all  the 
rights  under  the  laws,  that  men  have,  I  don't  see 
why  they  should  ask  for  special  immunities." 

"Perhaps,  after  women  have  all  the  rights  that 
men  have  they'll  not  ask  for  immunities,  they'll 
simply  vote  for  them,  and  have  them  for  men  as 
well  as  themselves." 

"I  suppose  so;  but  I,  for  one,  would  not  care  to 
vote.  I  think  it's  only  mannish  women  who  do." 

Laura  smiled,  though  her  eyes  flashed.  "That 
depends  on  what  makes  a  woman  mannish.  To  me, 
it  looks  more  or  less  mannish,  or  at  least  unwom 
anly,  for  a  woman  to  fail  to  be  a  mother.  She  proves 
her  incompleteness." 

"Of  course;  and  these  are  the  women  who  want 
the  ballot." 

[47] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Not  in  my  circle  of  acquaintances.  I  know 
women,  very  good  sort,  too,  in  a  general  way,  but 
narrow  and  selfish,  who  say  publicly  that  they  would 
not  care  to  vote  on  any  subject.  Two  of  this  type 
live  here  in  Stillwater.  They've  never  made  a 
home  for  their  husbands.  Neither  one  has  ever 
borne  a  child.  One  married  a  widower  with  three 
or  four  boys  and  girls,  for  whom  she  has  never 
lifted  a  finger.  They've  been  brought  up  in  schools 
and  in  the  homes  of  relations.  As  openly  as  she  de 
clares  her  prejudice  against  the  ballot  for  women, 
she  says  that  she  married  her  husband,  but  not  his 
incumbrances." 

Frances  laughed.  "That's  a  fair  statement,  at 
least.  I  guess  I  know  her,  and  she's  simply  elegant 
— the  swellest  woman  I've  met  in  Stillwater." 

"Quite  elegant,  I'll  admit.  No  doubt  you've  met 
the  other  one,  too,  also  childless;  and  she  thinks 
it  perfectly  shocking  that  women  should  want  to 
run  the  country  through  the  ballot-box.  She  and 
her  husband  live  in  some  rooms,  somewhere  down 
town,  and  go  out,  here,  there,  and  everywhere  for 
meals.  She  tells,  as  if  it  was  something  to  boast 
of,  that  when  they  have  anything  to  eat  in  their 
rooms  it  is  the  husband  who  prepares  it.  This  is 
usually  in  the  morning,  and  she  only  gets  out  of 
bed  at  his  repeated  solicitations  to  go  and  eat  the 
breakfast  that  he  has  cooked.  To  me,  these  are 
samples  of  mannish  women,  while  real  women,  the 
[48] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

mothers  of  sons  and  daughters,  realize  their  limi 
tations  under  the  laws,  particularly  where  the  own 
ership  of  property,  and  even  of  their  children,  are 
concerned." 

"I  never  thought  of  the  matter  in  that  way,  nor 
much  in  any  way.  If  only  the  better  class  of  women 
were  allowed  to  vote — but  I  shouldn't  care  to  go 
to  the  polls  alongside  my — kitchen  girl,  for  in 
stance." 

"You  might  stand  it,  as  long  as  Dan  has  the 
chance  of  casting  his  ballot  in  company  with  the 
colored  janitor  of  the  building  where  his  offices  are; 
and  I'll  wager  a  doughnut  against  a  big  pickled  cu 
cumber  that  your  maid  is  more  intelligent  than  any 
man  of  her  social  grade  in  Stillwater." 

"Yes,  I've  no  doubt  of  that;  and  generally,  wom 
en's  morals  are  better  than  men's.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
did  you  ever  know  Miss  Dever?" 

"Miss  Dever?  No;  I  know  of  her.  She  went 
away  just  a  week  or  so  before  I  came  here  to  live. 
She's  here  now,  for  the  first  time,  it's  said,  since 
she  was  married.  Lois  and  I  saw  her  the  other 
day,  leaving  her  mother's  door.  At  least,  Lois  said 
it  must  be  she." 

Frances  was  about  to  speak,  when,  on  looking 
out  of  the  window,  she  saw  Basil  and  Dan  at  the 
gate,  and  a  woman,  slender,  and  young,  about  to 
pass,  when  both  men  stepped  out  upon  the  walk  and 

[49] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

greeted  her  with  every  appearance  of  meeting  an 
old  friend. 

"I  wonder  who  she  is  ?"  Frances  said. 

"Surely  that  is  Miss  Dever,  or,  properly,  Mrs. 
Hammel !  I  didn't  see  her  face  the  other  day." 

"She's  handsome,  isn't  she?" 

"Strikingly  so.  Basil  must  bring  Fred  in  as  soon 
as  she  goes  on.  The  air  is  getting  too  cool  for 
him." 

Frances  watched  the  beautiful  woman  at  the 
gate,  and  her  eyes  narrowed;  her  lips  were  pressed 
into  a  straight  line  of  dull  red,  and  her  whole  body 
trembled. 


[50] 


CHAPTER  VI 

"So  YOU  met  your  old  sweetheart  quite  informal 
ly,  did  you?" 

"Old  sweetheart?"  and  Dan  opened  his  eyes  very 
wide.  "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  pshaw!  How  long  has  she  been  in  town, 
and  what's  she  here  for?  Of  course  you  know  all 
about  her." 

"You  mean  Anna  Dever — Mrs.  Hammel?  She 
told  me  she  had  been  in  town  a  week,  and  expects  to 
stay  for  some  time  longer.  She's  here  to  see  her 
mother,  I  suppose." 

"You  suppose !  Why  should  you  suppose  to  me, 
when  I  know  you  were  lovers  before  she  ran  away 
with  Hammel?" 

"If  you  know  that  Anna  and  I  were  lovers,  you 
know  a  deal  more  than  I  do.  What  put  that  into 
your  head?  I  know  of  Anna's  visit  here  just  what 
she  told  me  at  the  gate.  I  knew  she  was  in  town; 
Lois  told  me  she  had  seen  her,  and  wondered  if  she 
had  better  call  upon  her.  As  for  any  love  affair 
there  was  between  Anna  and  myself,  that's  all  rot. 
However  did  you  get  that  crazy  idea  ?" 

[51] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

"I  overheard  it  talked  of  this  afternoon." 

"Not  by  any  of  my  folks  I" 

Frances  elevated  her  chin,  and  her  voice  was 
sharp. 

"No.    'My  folks  are  very  prudent." 

"Frances,  a  little  of  such  talk  will  go  a  long  way 
with  me.  You've  been  acting  like — Old  Nick  all 
evening,  and  I  couldn't  guess  why.  Now,  out  with 
the  whole  story !  What  was  said,  and  who  said  it?" 

"So  you're  bound  to  force  a  quarrel,  are  you  ?" 

"Good  Lord!" 

Dan  walked  across  the  room,  into  the  hall,  and 
back  again.  He  stopped  a  few  feet  from  his  wife. 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  you've  been  in  a  temper 
about  all  evening,  or  will  you  drop  the  whole  busi 
ness,  and  behave  as  a  sane  woman  should?" 

"There's  no  use  of  you  denying  that  you  and  that 
woman  were  lovers !" 

"I  see  there's  no  use  of  it.  Have  it  your  own 
way  if  you  know  more  about  it  than  I  do." 

"Mrs.  Harris  said  to  Mrs.  Milford  it  would 
have  been  so  much  better  for— she  called  her  Nan, 
if  she  had  married  you  instead  of  Hammel." 

Dan  merely  grunted.  "Anybody  who  ever  knew 
Jack  and  me  would  say  that.  I  believe  it  myself." 

"Oh,  you  do?" 

"Yes;  and  I'm  not  at  all  conceited.  Jack  Ham 
mel  was  a  stick,  and  I've  never  had  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  he  has  improved.  Four  years  ago,  when 

[52] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

Nan  ran  away  with  him,  I  was  scarcely  of  mar 
riageable  age.  Of  course,  boys  of  twenty-two  do 
marry,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  it,  and  neither  had  Nan, 
that  I  was  aware.  There  never  was  the  least  hint 
of  love  between  us.  We  had  known  each  other 
since  childhood.  She  was  only  one  of  the  girls 
in  the  same  school  where  I  was — one  of  the  hand 
somest,  as  anyone  could  see.  That's  all  there  was 
of  it.  We  went  to  the  same  church,  the  same  dan 
cing  school,  and  later  we  were  members  of  the  dan 
cing  club.  I  used  to  walk  home  with  Nan  and  her 
mother.  Sometimes  Nan  and  I  were  left  to  come 
and  go  alone.  Mrs.  Dever  was  one  of  the  most 
careful  mothers  I  ever  knew." 

The  quarrel  subsided  as  usual.  Dan  shrank  from 
the  acknowledgment  that  quarrels  were  growing  to 
be  usual,  particularly  after  Frances  had  met  any  of 
his  own  family.  In  the  first  weeks  of  his  married 
life  he  thought  perhaps  Lois  and  Laura  were  suffi* 
ciently  childish  to  purposely  vex  Frances,  but  now, 
after  nearly  half  a  year,  he  knew  that  this  was  not 
the  case.  He  did  not  like  to  confess  even  to  him 
self  that  it  was  because  of  a  carking  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  Frances.  He  had  married  her,  well 
aware,  as  he  had  said  to  Basil  and  Laura,  that  she 
was  "not  a  prize  beauty  as  to  face,  but  her  figure 
was  faultless,  and  her  manner  simply  superb." 

Now,  though  her  face  was  not  homely  when  at 
its  best,  and  her  figure  was  round  and  trim,  Dan 

[53] 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

was  beginning  to  discover  that  her  superb  manner 
was  manner,  and  nothing  more. 

Her  behavior  was  governed  by  no  principle,  no 
law  of  right,  no  kindness  of  heart,  no  loftiness  of 
soul. 

As  time  went  on,  Dan  found  himself  wondering 
even  to  find  her  when  not  in  her  good  behavior, 
in  a  mood  to  be  even  ordinarily  polite. 

For  a  month  or  two,  while  their  own  house  was 
being  furnished,  they  had  lived  at  home.  Friends 
of  the  family,  old  and  young,  had  called,  but  not 
one  ever  received  the  slightest  acknowledgment  of 
the  civility.  In  vain  did  Mrs.  Drayton  and  Lois 
urge,  in  a  kindly  way,  that  Frances  go  with  one  or 
the  other,  or  both,  to  return  these  calls.  At  last, 
when  Dan,  in  the  presence  of  the  family,  remon 
strated,  Frances  said:  "If  you  must  know,  then, 
I'll  tell  you  that  I'm  not  interested  in  these  folks. 
I'm  going  to  make  acquaintances  by  and  by,  when 
I  know  more  of  the  town,  and  decide  who  are  worth 
knowing.  I  expect  you  to  work  with  me  in  this.  I 
want  a  circle  of  the  very  best." 

Nothing  was  said  for  a  moment.  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton,  hurt  and  indignant,  left  the  room.  Lois,  after 
waiting  for  Dan  to  reply,  said  indifferently:  "Prob 
ably  that  will  be  the  better  way  for  you.  Now 
there's  Mrs.  Keyes,  on  Minor  Street,  she  runs  a 
boarding-house  something  like  your  aunt's  at  Salem. 
No  doubt  you'd  find  her  congenial.  Of  course,  we 
[54] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

don't  know  anything  about  your  own  home.  Prob 
ably  if  we  did  we'd  not  have  made  the  mistake  we 
have  in  importuning  you  to  be  civil  to  our  friends. 
Dan,  you  can  leave  cards  for  Mrs.  Keyes.  You 
know  her  in  a  business  way." 

"Now,  Lois,  where's  the  use?"  Dan  said  impa 
tiently.  "If  Frances  doesn't  care  to  meet  your 
friends,  or  return  their  calls,  why  should  she?" 

"No  reason  for  it  in  the  world.  I  was  recom 
mending  a  person  who  is  not  my  friend,  but  who 
is  in  the  same  line  of  work  as  your  aunt-in-law,  and 
so  likely  to  please  Frances." 

"I  mean  to  know  people  of  the  very  best  grade," 
Frances  snapped. 

"Well,  those  things  are  largely  matters  of  opin 
ion.  No  doubt  your  aunt  and  Mrs.  Keyes  consider 
themselves  second  to  nobody." 

"My  aunt  is  not  obliged  to  take  boarders.  She 
never  boards  any  but  teachers  and  students.  That 
is  for  the  advantage  of  her  children.  They  get 
many  lessons  privately  that  otherwise  they  would 
not  have." 

"Of  course,"  Lois  answered  seriously,  but  Dan 
was  ready  to  laugh,  angry  as  he  was,  at  the  wicked 
ness  of  her  eyes.  "The  analogy  grows.  I  over 
heard  Mrs.  Keyes  telling  in  Mrs.  Harp's  millinery 
store  that  she  only  kept  boarders  for  company.  Oh, 
if  ever  I  find  it  necessary  to  work  for  money,  I'll 

[55] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

do  it  and  be  honest  about  it.  Why  should  women 
be  such  silly  pates?" 

Dan  recalled  this  conversation  many  times  when 
he  found  cards  of  callers  of  whom  he  knew  noth 
ing.  But  Frances  must  choose  her  own  friends. 
The  difficulty  was,  it  was  necessary,  in  a  measure, 
for  her  friends  to  be  his,  and  for  this  he  was  scarcely 
prepared.  He  found  it  a  little  embarrassing,  too, 
sometimes,  when  he  was  compelled  to  close  the  door 
in  the  faces  of  those  he  had  known  and  esteemed 
during  all  the  years  of  his  residence  in  Stillwatcr. 

Before  his  marriage,  Dan  had  never  given  a 
thought  to  the  social  status  of  his  father's  family. 
There  had  never  been  any  question  about  it.  While 
not  immensely  wealthy,  the  Draytons  were  amongst 
the  "solid"  people  of  the  county.  They  were  un 
pretentious.  The  home  place,  while  not  so  showy 
as  many  other  houses  in  the  town,  looked  what  it 
was — a  home.  It  was  a  home  that  had  grown  with 
the  years.  The  furniture,  the  carpets,  the  pictures 
on  the  walls — all  were  in  harmony. 

The  library  showed  itself  unmistakably  the 
steady  growth  of  years,  the  valued  treasures  of 
book-loving  and  home-loving  people. 

It  was  after  his  marriage  that  Dan  learned  to  un 
derstand  the  word  "swell."  If  a  person,  an  equi 
page,  a  house,  or  a  function,  met  the  approval  of 
Frances  it  was  because  it  was  "swell." 

At  first  the  word  amused  Mrs.  Drayton.    By  and 

[56] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

by  it  annoyed  her.  She  began  to  discover  that  most 
usually,  when  Frances  used  the  term,  it  was  to  ex 
press  comparison  and  disapproval  of  the  Drayton 
family  or  some  of  their  belongings. 

She  saw  more  plainly,  day  by  day,  how  different 
the  girl  was  from  anything  she  could  have  desired 
in  a  wife  for  her  son.  She  could  not  understand 
how  it  happened  that  he  had  been  attracted  by  her. 
She  could  see  but  little  that  was  in  the  least  wom 
anly  or  lovable  about  her;  but,  as  time  went  on, 
and  she  saw  that  Dan  seemed  to  be  the  one  of  the 
pair  most  in  love,  she  concluded  that  possibly  it 
was  this  very  crudeness,  this  challenging  brusque- 
ness,  this  patch  and  veneer  of  manner,  that,  by  its 
foreignness  to  anything  he  had  ever  been  accus 
tomed  to,  had  attracted  him. 


[57] 


CHAPTER  VII 

"THINGS  seem  to  be  coming  Dan's  way,  don't 
they?" 

This  was  Paul  Drayton's  remark  to  his  father 
at  the  dinner-table  one  summery  day  in  the  first 
week  in  June. 

"Yes.  Dan  has  ability,  and  folks  seem  to  be  find 
ing  it  out,"  was  the  reply. 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Drayton  asked. 

"The  new  road  has  engaged  Dan  as  attorney,  at 
a  very  liberal  salary.  There  won't  be  much  work, 
either.  The  road  is  short,  there's  been  no  trouble, 
no  misunderstanding,  that  I've  ever  heard  of.  It 
looks  like  the  merest  matter  of  form  for  the  com 
pany  to  have  a  regularly  employed  attorney." 

"Still,  there's  always  work  of  a  formal  kind  to 
be  done." 

"Yes,  but  scarcely  enough  to  warrant  this;  but 
it's  their  own  affair,  and  Dan's.  Complications  may 
arise." 

"I  so  wish  that  Dan  would  give  up  the  idea  of 
this  office  he  has  in  mind,"  and  Mrs.  Drayton 
sighed. 

"No  use  of  hoping  for  that.   He's  committed  to 

[58] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  party,  and  the  convention  meets  on  the  tenth, 
Don't  worry  about  it.  We've  said  all  that  we  can. 
Dan  has  the  wrong  influence  at  home.  No  doubt 
Frances  thinks  it'll  be  quite  'swell'  for  Dan  to 
hold  office." 

"Father,"  said  Paul,  "I  don't  believe  I  can  vote 
for  Dan;  will  you?" 

Mr.  Drayton  laughed.  "No,  Paul,  I'll  not  vote 
for  Dan,  and  I'll  be  glad  if  you  don't.  I'm  sure 
Basil  will  scratch,  too.  It  will  make  no  difference 
in  the  outcome — he'll  be  elected  without  us." 

"Papa,  about  this  road,"  Lois  asked.  "It  goes 
through  Montpelier,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yes;  it  gives  Stillwater  direct  connection  with 
several  towns  that  we've  heretofore  had  to  make 
roundabout  trips  to  reach.  Are  you  going  to  Mont 
pelier?" 

"Now  hear  that !  Who  was  it,  only  a  few  days 
ago,  helping  me  in  plans  for  a  summer  outing  in 
and  about  Montpelier?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember!"  Mr.  Drayton  said, 
laughing.  "Yes,  it'll  be  quite  convenient.  Now  let 
us  understand  the  matter;  are  we  going  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  scenery,  for  sketching,  for  rest  and 
recreation  primarily,  or  is  our  first  object  to  discover 
Dan's  relations-in-law  ?" 

"Let  me  see,"  Lois  said  thoughtfully.  "The 
first  idea  was  to  find  out  what  Frances  had  up  her 
sleeve." 

[59] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Halt  there!"  Paul  interrupted.  "No  slang; 
Frances  doesn't  understand  it.  Go  on  now,  in  plain 
English." 

"No,  I  won't  amend  it.  We  understand,  if  Fran 
ces  doesn't.  I  think  we'll  keep  our  first  idea  in 
sight.  I  think  I'm  a  reincarnation  of  Columbus 
— same  ilk.  I  do  so  enjoy  tours  of  discovery — 
of  strange  people.  If  we  rest  ourselves,  get  fash 
ionably  sun-burned  and  mosquito-bitten,  or  make 
sketches,  we'll  put  these  into  the  lists  of  by-prod 
ucts  of  the  trip." 

"Lois  is  using  a  voluminous  vocabulary  for  just 
a  girl.  Is  it  the  clubs,  mother?"  Paul  asked. 

"Why  not?"  Lois  answered  for  herself.  "Within 
the  last  club  year  we've  explained,  by  the  aid  of 
several  standard  encyclopedias,  all  the  mines  in 
the  world,  in  two  thirty-minute  papers.  In  two 
other  papers  we  disposed  of  the  religions  of  the 
Orientals  and  the  modern  interpretation  of  them. 
Shakespeare  we  squandered  a  half  hour  with,  and 
Goethe  and  Schiller  we  parcelled  together." 

"Such  a  system  of  cramming!"  said  Mrs. 
Drayton. 

"Oh,  mamma,  we  don't  hurt  ourselves  cram 
ming!  We  touch  our  subjects  lightly." 

"Yes,  and  Lois  fires  out  her  surplus  ideas  at  us," 
from  Paul. 

"You  don't  think  we're  showing  any  symptoms 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

of  paresis,  or  other  brain  trouble,  from  absorp 
tion?"  Mr.  Drayton  asked. 

"You  must  do  as  I  do,  papa — give  your  extra 
ideas  to  somebody  else.  Auntie  Cleo  said  the  other 
day:  'Girls  des  learn  new  t'ings  every  day,  an'  done 
fo'git  de  old  ones,  an'  leave  'em  layin'  roun'  fo' 
workin'  folks.  I'se  done  got  my  ole  haid  stuffed 
full  o'  what  Missy  Lois  done  fo'got.'  ' 

"That's  not  the  case  with  you,  is  it,  Bett?"  Mr. 
Drayton  asked,  as  in  answer  to  the  faintest  tap  of 
the  bell  the  girl  came  from  her  corner  to  clear  the 
table. 

"No,  sir;  I  hope  not.  I  try  to  keep  up  with  the 
times.  What  good  would  all  my  schoolin'  do  if  I 
didn't?" 

"That's  true,  too;  and  you  go  to  clubs  some 
times?" 

"Yes,  sir;  our  club's  fine.  Next  year  it'll  be 
better'n  ever." 

"What's  the  name  of  your  club,  Bett?"  Paul 
asked. 

"It's  name's  'Onward  and  Upward.' ' 

"Hi !    That's  appropriate,  I'll  believe." 

"But,  dear,  about  this  road,"  Mrs.  Drayton 
said.  "Dan  cannot  engage  in  other  business,  nor 
even  hold  the  business  of  the  road  while  he's  prose 
cutor,  can  he?" 

"He's  about  to  conclude  arrangements  with 
Hale,  I  think.  That  will  make  plain  sailing  for 
[61] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

him.  The  partnership  will  be  in  due  form,  then 
in  due  form  dissolved,  with  an  understanding.  Men 
do  these  things,  and,  where  both  are  honorable, 
there's  no  trouble.  Hale  will  simply  take  posses 
sion  of  Dan's  interests,  his  clients,  present  and  to 
come,  and  no  doubt  he  and  Dan  will  occasionally 
hold  consultations." 

It  was  a  few  days  later  that,  one  morning,  Lois, 
starting  out  on  an  errand,  remembered  some  maga 
zines  she  had  promised  to  Frances. 

"I'll  take  these  with  me,  and  get  all  the  dis 
agreeable  work  over  in  one  trip." 

"Lois !"  Mrs.  Drayton  said  reprovingly. 

"Never  mind,  mamma,  dear,"  Lois  laughed. 
"One  must  be  free  to  speak  the  truth  sometimes." 

"Don't  you  speak  the  truth  with  Frances?" 

"In  a  way,  yes;  but  you  see  it's  a  sort  of  fib  we're 
all  living  with  her.  If  she  was  not  one  of  the  fam 
ily  I'm  sure  we'd  never  speak  to  her — nor  even 
know  her." 

"Perhaps  if  she  was  not  one  of  the  family  she'd 
be  more  agreeable." 

"Perhaps.  She'll  not  have  the  chance  to  be  dis 
agreeable  to  me  for  very  long  this  morning,  I'm 
happy  to  say,"  and  she  went  briskly  down  the  walk, 
amongst  the  flitting  lights  and  shadows  of  the  over 
arching  trees. 

[62] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

Mrs.  Drayton  watched  her  until  she  passed  out 
of  the  gate. 

"Seems  lak  no  gal  'at  evah  comes  hyah's  half  nice 
lak  Missy  Lois." 

Mrs.  Drayton  turned  to  meet  the  admiring  eyes 
of  Cleo. 

"Don't  you  think  we  spoil  Lois,  Auntie?  You 
see,  the  one  girl  in  a  family  of  boys  is  likely  to 
seem  much  nicer  and  prettier  than  she  really  is." 

"No,  ma'am!  We  don't  spile  111  miss.  Nobody 
couldn't  spile  huh.  Des  w'at  worries  me  is  'at  dey 
ain't  no  man  in  all  dis  bressed  world's  good  'nough 
t'  marry  Missy  Lois." 

"We  won't  think  of  that  for  a  long  time,,  yet." 

"Laws!  Now  heah  dat! — an'  ev'y  man  in  dis 
town  'at  ha'nt  done  got  hisse'f  married  be'n  t'inkin' 
'bout  dat  same  t'ing." 

Lois  hurried  to  her  brother  Dan's  pretty  cottage. 
As  she  passed  from  the  gate  to  the  door  she  came 
near  saying  aloud: 

"How  is  it  that  everything  about  Frances  has 
a  trashy  look?  In  a  way  she's  artistic,  and  yet, 
whatever  she  touches  takes  on  a  slip-shod  appear 
ance.  Auntie  Cleo's  right;  she's  all  lopsided." 

Within  the  next  few  moments  Lois  was  to  learn 
more  of  the  history  of  her  sister-in-law  than  she 
had  discovered  in  six  months  of  family  life  with 
her.  She  found  the  inside  door  standing  open  and 

[63] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

the  screen  door  fastened.  She  touched  the  bell, 
and  stood  looking  at  a  window-box  while  she  wait 
ed.  Presently  she  heard  a  strange  voice  in  the  hall, 
and  a  strange,  heavy  step.  Her  thought  was :  Fran 
ces  has  a  new  girl.  She  turned  as  she  heard  the 
latch  of  the  door  drawn,  and  met  face  to  face  a 
large,  florid,  frowzy,  middle-aged  woman. 

"I  guess  that  hired  girl  didn't  hear  you,"  she 
said,  and  laughed,  showing  big,  uneven  teeth. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Lois  answered,  as  she  felt  a  chilly 
tremor  creeping  from  her  fingers  to  her  shoulders. 

"Is — is  Mrs.  Drayton  at  home?"  and  then,  at 
the  expression  that  passed  over  the  woman's  face, 
Lois  wondered  in  a  confused  jumble  of  thought  if 
she  had  gone  into  the  wrong  house.  But  no,  surely. 
All  about  was  familiar,  but  this  woman ;  and,  in  a 
way,  she,  too,  was  not  strange.  There  was  an  un 
mistakable  resemblance.  And  Lois  had  a  laughable 
idea  of  having  one  impression  in  Italic  letters 
across  her  brain :  This  must  be  Dan's  mother-in-law!" 

Just  as  she  reached  this  point  the  woman,  smi 
ling  broader  than  ever,  and  putting  up  a  big  red 
hand  to  her  hair,  said :  "No ;  Mrs.  Drayton's  gone 
out  to  see  to  her  marketin'.  Seems  odd  to  hear 
Frank  called  Mrs.  Drayton,  don't  it,  Liz?"  and 
she  turned  to  a  tall,  awkward  girl,  who  stood  half 
way  down  the  hall. 

"Won't  you  step  in  an*  set  down  till  she  comes? 
Come  right  in  the  parlor.  Frank  says  she  uses  it 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

every  day,  just  like  the  biggest  'swells'  " ;  and  she 
held  aside  the  portiere. 

"So  you  are  Frances'  mother?"  Lois  said  in 
quiringly. 

Afterwards  she  told  Laura  that  she  felt  she  must 
have  the  confirmation  of  words  to  be  sure  she  was 
not  dreaming. 

"Yes,  I'm  Frank's  ma,  an'  proper  glad  I  am  to 
see  my  girl  so  well  settled  in  life.  I've  jest  be'n 
tellin'  Liz  it  seems  like  a  dream.  I  s'pose  you're 
one  of  Frank's  new  friends?" 

"I'm  Lois  Drayton — Dan's  sister." 

"You  don't  tell  me !  Well,  now,  you  do  favor 
him,  don't  she,  Liz?  I  haven't  seen  much  of  Dan, 
as  you  call  'im.  We  on'y  came  las'  night,  'bout 
eight  o'clock." 

•  "Oh,  indeed!  Was  Frances  expecting  you?" 
Lois  asked  this  because  she  had  seen  Frances  in  the 
afternoon  and  she  had  not  mentioned  her  mother. 

"No,  indeedy,  she  wasn't  expectin'  us !  There's 
the  fun  of  it.  Ye  see,  she  wrote  to  us  that  Dan'd 
be'n  app'inted  attorney  for  the  new  road,  and  pa, 
he  up  an'  tole  Jap  Sloper — Sloper,  he's  got  some- 
thin',  I  don't  rightly  know  what,  to  do  with  it — 
'at  this  Mr.  Drayton,  attorney,  was  our  son-in-law. 
Then  what  does  Sloper  do  but  say  'at  when  we  want 
passes  to  come  and  visit  Frank  we  sh'd  jes'  let  'im 
know.  I  tole  pa  I'd  let  him  know  right  away,  fer 
I  hadn't  seen  Frank  fer  nigh  on  to  two  year." 

[65] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"You  hadn't?  How  far  is  Montpelier  from 
Salem?" 

"It's  on'y  twenty  miles ;  but  Frank  always  had  so 
many  places  to  go,  an',  of  course,  we  don't  put  on 
no  style  at  our  house,  an'  Frank's  nothin'  if  she 
ain't  swell.  Her  and  her  Aunt  Lucindy — she's  my 
own  sister — jest  suited  to  a  T.  An'  pa  and  Sloper's 
always  be'n  great  cronies  in  politics,  an'  so  there's 
no  kind  o'  trouble  gettin'  the  passes.  I  told  the 
conductor  he  might  see  me  on  the  trains  pretty 
reg'lar  since  my  son-in-law  was  the  lawyer  'at  had 
all  the  road's  business  in  'is  vest  pocket.  He  seemed 
real  tickled  'bout  it,  an'  said  of  course  he'd  try  to 
make  me  comfortable.  I  tole  Liz,  of  course  he 
would.  There's  nothin'  like  havin'  a  pull.  Frank's 
always  so  set  up,  it  didn't  surprise  anybody  'at  she'd 
married  a  swell  sort  of  man ;  but  I  don't  count  on 
my  other  three  doin'  's  well." 

"Frances  must  have  been  delighted  to  see  you. 
I  don't  see  how  I  could  do  without  my  mother  for 
two  years." 

"Well,  you  see  Frank's  mighty  independent. 
Laws!  I  think  sometimes  she  c'u'd  do  without  all 
her  relations.  She  was  glad  enough  to  see  us,  but, 
ye  see,  she's  so  swell,  she  said  we'd  'a'  better  waited 
till  she  came  home  an'  helped  us  to  rig  up  a  little. 
But,  laws !  What  do  I  care  for  fixin'  up  ?  A  per 
son's  jest  the  same,  anyway;  an'  if  I  ain't  good 
enough  to  see  'er  swell  friends  in  my  gingham  wrap- 
[66] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

per" — and  she  smoothed  the  gingham  over  her 
knees — "I  ain't  good  enough  to  see  'em  when  I  go 
sweepin'  roun'  in  the  silk  teagown  'at  Frank  says 
I  ought  to  have." 

"I'm  sure  you're  right,  Mrs.  Caylor,  and  I'm 
glad  I  met  you  this  morning  in  a  dress  of  your  own 
selection.  I  know  you  must  feel  more  comfortable 
than  if  dressed  according  to  some  other  person's 
taste.  I  must  go  now.  I  brought  these  books  for 
Frances.  I  hope  to  see  you  again,  and  if  you  are 
going  to  be  here  for — a  day  or  two,  and  Frances 
can  spare  you,  you  must  visit  with  mamma  for  a 
day." 

"Oh,  Frank'll  spare  me,  all  right,  on'y  she  says 
I  haven't  a  decent  dud  to  put  on." 

Lois  laughed.  "Never  mind  that,  Mrs.  Caylor. 
I  agree  with  you  in  your  ideas  of  dress.  I'll  see 
you  again,  and  then  we'll  arrange  a  day  with  Fran 
ces  and  mamma.  Of  course  your  young  daughter — 
Elizabeth,  is  that  her  name — will  come,  too?" 

"Yes,  that's  her  name,  but  she  hates  it,  an'  so 
we  call  her  Liz." 

"That's  a  shame!  Elizabeth  is  a  beautiful 
name!"  And  shaking  hands  most  cordially  with 
the  two,  she  took  her  departure,  wondering  what 
Frances  would  say  when  she  heard  of  the  inter 
view,  and  wondering  still  more  how  Frances  would 
feel  to  introduce  her  mother  to  her  new  friends  in 
Stillwater. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

To  SAY  that  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Caylor  in  Still- 
water  created  a  sensation  amongst  the  friends  of 
the  Draytons  is  stating  a  large  fact  in  a  very  mild 
manner.  More  than  one  person  outside  the  family 
had  suspected  the  new  Mrs.  Drayton  of  veneering, 
but  not  quite  so  much.  It  had  been  readily  guessed 
that  her  people  were  poor,  else  she  had  not  occu 
pied  a  small-salaried  position  in  the  girls'  school  in 
Salem. 

Her  own  version  of  her  history  was  that  for 
seven  years  she  had  been  a  pupil  in  this  very  select 
academy.  After  her  graduation,  at  the  urgent  so 
licitation  of  the  principal,  she  had  accepted  a  posi 
tion  in  the  school.  This  she  had  done  the  more 
readily  because,  in  the  good  home  to  which  she 
might  have  gone  there  was  a  delicate  father,  with 
but  small  means,  and  three  young  sisters  to  educate. 

The  ailing  father  and  the  sisters  were  easily  sub 
stantiated,  but  Mrs.  Caylor  made  some  unlocked 
for  revelations.  She  seemed  to  be  proud  of  the 
"grit  Frank  showed"  in  working  in  Aunt  Lucindy's 
boarding-house  to  pay  for  her  board  and  tuition, 
[68] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

but  she  was  quite  as  proud  of  her  other  girls,  who 
refused  to  become  "Aunt  Lucindy's  nigger  for  a  lit 
tle  book  learnin'."  And  Mrs.  Caylor  would  add, 
in  a  most  self-satisfied  manner,  "My  folks  always 
was  independent.  Ef  they  tuk  it  into  their  heads 
to  do  a  thing,  they  done  it;  an'  if  they  set  up  not 
to  do  it,  they  was  no  use  o'  talkin'.  I  never  quar'l 
with  my  girls  'bout  goin'  to  school.  Frank  went, 
an'  she's  made  a  good  thing  out  of  it.  Ef  the  oth 
ers  don't  choose  to  take  their  Aunt  Lucindy's  offer, 
w'y  jest  as  they  make  their  bed  so  they  must  lay 
in  it.  Frank  was  allus  up  for  bein'  tony  and  swell, 
an'  she's  met  up  with  'er  calkilations,  an'  pa  an'  I 
are  mighty  proud  of  'er.  You'd  never  ketch  Frank 
roun'  home  ef  she  c'u'd  be  any  place  else  earnin' 
a  livin'  an'  puttin'  on  style." 

While  Stillwater  society  smiled  behind  its  fan,  it 
accorded  more  respect  to  the  honest,  illiterate  moth 
er  than  it  had  to  the  pretentious  daughter.  Too 
many  times  had  Frances  inadvertently  shown  her 
true  colors.  Too  often  had  she  given,  apropos  of 
nothing,  her  little  lectures  on  correct  usage.  By  her 
zeal  she  had  made  herself  suspected  as  a  late  dis 
ciple  of  the  cult  of  good  breeding. 

It  happened  one  afternoon,  when  the  club  paper 
of  "The  Ladies'  Own"  had  treated  of  the  life  and 
character  of  Dorothy  Payne  Madison,  that  the  dis 
cussion  following  had  turned  upon  the  strength  of 
mind,  the  ideal  diplomacy,  the  womanly  refinement, 
[69] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

that  was  expressed  in  the  behavior  of  Mrs.  Madi 
son,  both  in  her  public  and  private  life.  Mrs.  Mil- 
ford  was  a  guest  of  the  club  that  day,  and  the  mee1> 
ing  was  at  the  home  of  Mrs.  Marks,  the  president. 
When  Frances  arose  to  speak,  she  said: 

"Madam  President,  is  it  not  to  be  supposed  that 
this  refining  of  character  may  be  achieved  by  the 
training  we  receive  in  our  excellent  schools?  If 
not,  I  would  like  Mrs.  Milford,  our  guest,  to  give 
us  her  opinion.  Is  there  any  better  method  to  adopt 
to  the  end  of  producing  character  excelling  in  the 
attributes  for  which  Mrs.  Madison  was  famed?" 
Mrs.  Milford,  thus  appealed  to,  said: 
"It  cannot  be  denied  that  our  schools,  semina 
ries,  academies,  and  colleges,  exert  a  great  influ 
ence  in  the  formation  and  development  of  the  char 
acter  of  our  women.  Development  is  surely  the 
better  word,  because  the  fiber  of  the  character,  the 
germ  of  possibility,  is  there  at  birth.  All  circum 
stances  but  serve  for  the  growth,  and  different  ma 
terial  will  develop  in  different  ways  under  the  same 
circumstances.  So  I  would  suggest  that  the  most 
expeditious  way  to  reach  a  high  state  of  refinement 
is  to  inherit  a  character  capable  of  taking  on  a  high 
polish.  I  would  have  a  character  like  our  best 
household  furniture — of  solid  material.  If  one  is 
veneered  by  the  mechanic,  and  the  other  by  the 
schools,  both  will  be  found  out,  sooner  or  later. 
Neither  one  is  genuine ;  both  are  cheap.  Still,  they 

[70] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

have  their  uses.  Disaster  comes  when  either  ve 
neered  furniture  or  veneered  folks  are  expected  to 
fill  the  office  of  the  solid  article." 

This  little  speech  was  recalled  to  the  memory 
of  every  woman  who  heard  it  when  she  met  Mrs. 
Caylor,  or  heard  of  her  visit  to  her  daughter.  There 
were  no  formal  nor  informal  invitations  from  Fran 
ces  to  her  friends  to  meet  her  mother,  and  it  would 
have  been  more  diplomatic  if  there  had  been.  Those 
who  met  Mrs.  Caylor  had  a  much  better  opinion 
of  her  than  those  who  only  heard  of  her.  She 
could  not  be  described  so  as  to  give  a  correct  im 
pression  of  her  personality.  Her  new  acquaintances, 
while  astonished  at  her  utter  illiteracy,  yet  could 
perceive  that  her  temper  was  kindly,  that  she  was 
devoid  of  affectation,  and  was  really  an  affectionate 
and  lovable  woman. 

She  knew  so  little  of  the  world  she  could  have 
no  conception  of  any  difference  there  must  neces 
sarily  be  between  her  own  and  her  daughter's  social 
position.  All  she  understood  was,  "Frank's  swell, 
and  I  ain't." 

She  was  the  sort  of  woman  who  is  known 
amongst  her  neighbors  as  "motherly";  "good  in 
sickness,"  and  "fond  of  Sunday  visiting." 

Mrs.  Drayton  called  upon  her  without  invitation, 
since  she  knew  she  would  not  receive  that  civility 
from  Frances.  She  also  made  a  family  dinner  party, 
with  Mrs.  Caylor  as  the  guest  of  honor. 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

This,  which  delighted  the  visitor,  put  her  daugh 
ter  in  the  worst  mood  possible.  But,  though  the 
hostess  and  her  immediate  family  were  sorely  tried 
by  the  temper  Frances  displayed,  Mrs.  Caylor  was 
perfectly  serene,  even  remarking  at  the  table: 
"Well,  Frank,  if  I  wasn't  used  to  your  high-flyin' 
tantrums,  you'd  reg'larly  make  me  sick.  But  I 
don't  mind  'em,  an'  Mrs.  Drayton'll  hev  to  jest 
look  over  'em,  too.  As  to  how  Dan's  goin'  to  stand 
it,  you'll  hev  to  figger  out  for  yerself.  Yer  pa'd  'a' 
raised  Cain,  sure  'nough,  ef  ever  I'd  'a'  acted  like 
you.  He's  allus  the  one  that  hed  to  be  humored, 
an'  you're  like  'im  to  a  T." 

Mrs.  Caylor,  glancing  at  the  face  of  her  son-in- 
law,  had  some  doubts  about  the  quality  of  "humor 
ing"  Frances  was  likely  to  receive  at  his  hands,  but 
Mrs.  Drayton  seemed  to  be  inclined  to  follow  the 
suggestion,  and  "look  over"  the  vagaries  of  the 
temper  of  her  son's  wife.  Her  kindly,  watchful 
family  saw  not  the  least  sign  of  its  usual  effect  upon 
her. 

At  the  dinner-table  Mrs.  Caylor  saw  Paul  for  the 
first  time,  and  after  the  meal  was  over  she  and  Mrs. 
Drayton  walked  all  about  the  lawns  and  gardens. 
This  was  ostensibly  to  show  the  visitor  Uncle  Zeke's 
methods,  and  many  seeds  and  slips  were  promised, 
but  really  Mrs.  Drayton  made  an  opportunity  to 
explain  to  her  guest  the  tragedy  that  had  made  Paul 
the  slim  weakling  he  was,  with  the  constantly  recur- 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

ring  symptoms  of  being  strangled.  He  was  in  every 
particular  such  a  striking  contrast  to  his  strong, 
complete  brothers. 

Mrs.  Caylor  proved  a  most  sympathetic  listener. 
A  mother  cannot  be  so  ignorant  as  to  know  nothing 
of  the  perils  of  the  period  of  mystery,  the  time  when 
she  nourishes  two  lives,  the  days  when  she  walks 
with  the  creative  gods. 

"So,  dear,  our  summer  trip  is  quite  unnecessary," 
Mr.  Drayton  said  to  Lois  in  the  evening,  when  they 
were  alone. 

"Yes,  papa,  and,  as  Mrs.  Caylor  would  say,  I'm 
'proper  glad'  that  we  are  in  no  way  responsible  for 
bringing  about  a  meeting.  How  mortified  Frances 
is  continually,  and  how  inconsiderate  she  is  of  her 
mother !  I  really  cannot  understand  it — how  these 
great  differences  come.  How  can  Frances  seem 
such  a  contrast  to  her  mother?  and  how  can  she  be 
so  merciless  to  her  sister?" 

"Don't  you  remember  what  Mrs.  Minor  said 
some  time  ago  at  the  club  ?"  Mrs.  Drayton  asked. 

Lois  looked  mystified  and  forgetful,  and  her 
mother  continued : 

"It  was  the  day  when  Catharine  Ray  read  her 
paper  on  the  modern  interpretation  of  reincarna 
tion.  If  you  remember,  the  discussion  was  quite 
lively,  and  Mrs.  Minor  said  that  only  by  believing 
in  the  reincarnation  of  souls  could  she  understand 
[73] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

this  particular  thing — the  vast  differences  there  are 
in  the  mentality  and  character  of  members  of  the 
same  family." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember!  So  Mrs.  Minor  would 
believe  that  the  soul  of  Frances  is  no  relation  to  that 
of  her  mother?" 

"And  I  should  think  if  Mrs.  Caylor  should  ever 
find  out  that  that's  a  fact,  she'd  be  'proper  glad'  of 
it,"  said  Paul  very  decidedly.  "I'm  very  glad  to 
know  that  I'm  only  her  brother-in-law,  and  rather 
than  be  a  born  relation  of  hers,  some  time  when 
I'm  in  the  bargain  department  of  the  gods  for  a 
selection  of  another  life,  I'll  take  the  lot  of  Cleo's 
son,  instead,  with  all  that  it  implies." 


[74] 


CHAPTER  IX 

"WELL,  now  'at  the  convention's  over  an'  done, 
an'  Dan's  as  good  as  elected,  me  an'  Liz'll  go 
home;  an'  I  jes'  want  to  say  to  you,  Frank,  you'd 
better  not  be  quite  so  upsettin'  with  Dan's  folks. 
Course,  Mrs.  Drayton'll  never  say  one  word  back. 
She'll  jes'  take  it  out  in  thinkin'  how  disapp'inted 
she  is,  an'  what  a  nice  little  boy  Dan  was,  an'  how 
gittin'  married  sp'iled  his  temper  an'  kind  o'  turned 
'im  ag'in  all  'is  own  folks.  Then  she'll  take  some 
comfort  in  thinkin'  lots  more  o'  Basil's  wife  than 
she'd  ever  'a'  thought  o'  doin'.  But  you  jes'  better 
watch  out  fer  Miss  Lady  Lois.  She  can  be  awful 
sweet  an'  nice,  an'  look  't  the  way  she's  be'n  with 
Liz.  W'y,  Liz's  changed  more  with  Lois  Dray- 
ton's  soft,  purrin',  pattin',  encouragin'  ways,  jes  in 
a  week,  than  you'd  change  'er  in  a  ye'r,  with  all 
your  snappin'  bout  doin'  this  or  that,  jes'  to  be 
swell.  But  for  all  Lois's  nice,  easy  ways,  I've  heerd 
'er  give  you  some  purty  sharp  digs,  an'  don't  you 
fergit  it!  An'  she  allus  does  it  right  afore  folks. 
I'll  warrant  you've  never  one  word  to  tell  Dan 
o'  what  'is  sister  said  when  he  wasn't  by." 

"Now,  ma,  there's  no  use  of  you  preaching  to 
[75] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

me.  Lois  is  like  any  girl  in  a  family  of  boys,  and 
Dan  can  see  it  now.  He  didn't  at  first.  Lois  leads 
the  whole  family  by  the  nose,  from  the  old  man 
down ;  but  she  can't  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes  as 
she  does  with  Basil's  wife,  and  she  may  as  well 
know  it.  Of  course  Mrs.  Drayton'll  think  less  of 
me  than  ever  now,"  and  Frances  paused  as  her  face 
grew  scarlet. 

"Less'n  ever  now  ?"  her  mother  repeated.  "What 
for?  'Cause  of  Dan's  nomination?  You're 
crazy " 

"No,  ma,  Frank  don't  mean  that,"  and  Liz 
glanced  frowningly  from  her  mother  to  her  sister. 

"Well,  what  does  she  mean?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

"She  means  'cause  you  an'  me  ain't  swell." 

"Well!"  Mrs.  Caylor  said  emphatically.  "I'll 
bet  all  I'm  worth  'at  Mrs.  Drayton's  never  give  it 
a  thought.  W'y,  look  at  the  way  she's  treated  us  I 
An  own  sister  couldn't  'a'  done  more!  An'  that's 
how  I  know  she's  a  lady,  an'  ef  ever  I've  a  chanst, 
I'll — well,  I'll  jes'  turn  my  house,  such  as  it  is,  up 
side  down,  an'  inside  out,  fer  her  or  any  o'  hern!" 

"So'll  I !"  said  Liz,  and  she  studied  her  finger 
nails  intently  while  she  thought  of  the  dainty  toilet 
articles  Lois  had  given  her  one  day  when  she  had 
admired  the  appointments  on  her  dressing-table  and 
had  mentioned  the  fact  that  she  had  nothing  of  the 
kind,  though  Sister  Frank  had. 
[76] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

The  half-grown,  not-trained-at-all  girl  had  read 
ily  fallen  into  many  of  Lois's  gentle  ways,  and  she 
seemed  to  read  the  difference  there  was  between 
her  habits  of  a  young  lifetime  and  her  sister's  coarse 
ambition. 

After  this  visit  of  her  mother  and  sister,  Frances 
held  herself  more  than  ever  in  an  attitude  of  defi 
ance  toward  her  husband's  relations.  If  any  one, 
or  all  of  them,  had  made  covert  or  open  disparag 
ing  remarks  about  Mrs.  Caylor  she  would  not  have 
been  surprised.  Her  expectations  were  in  line  with 
her  own  character,  and  she  could  not  understand 
the  mistake  she  was  making.  She  was  uneasy.  She 
felt  she  must  have  in  words  some  opinion  of  her 
mother. 

One  day  when  she  and  Mrs.  Drayton  were  alone 
together  she  adroitly  led  the  conversation  to  her 
mother's  lack  of  culture  and  social  ambition,  saying 
in  conclusion : 

"I  think  a  woman  needs  to  be  ambitious.  If  she 
isn't,  if  she's  easily  satisfied,  her  husband  follows 
her  example.  Ma  never  cared  at  all  to  be  of  ac 
count,  and  so,  of  course,  pa  had  nothing  to  live  up 
to.  He  just  plodded  along  and  made  a  living." 

Mrs.  Drayton  answered  gently,  thoughtfully : 

"I  think,  Frances,  that  your  mother  was  not  lack 
ing  in  what  you  call  ambition  when  she  was  young ; 
but  you'll  excuse  me  for  saying  it,  the  wife  of  a 
mechanic  who  never  rises  to  be  a  master  of  his  trade 

[77] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

has  little  chance  of  gratifying  ambitious  ideas,  par 
ticularly  when  there  are  several  children.  Your 
mother  told  me  she  had  borne  ten.  I  respect  her 
as  much  as  any  woman  I  ever  met.  I  think  when 
she  was  your  age  she  had  cravings  for  social  posi 
tion,  too.  Your  mother,  Frances,  is  a  disappointed 
woman,  and  one  who  has  known  much  sorrow. 
That  she  has  kept  a  sweet  and  kindly  temper,  in 
spite  of  the  life  she  has  lived,  proves  her  strength 
of  character.  She's  had  more  to  bear  than  I  have. 
My  child  lives.  She  has  borne  her  losses  better 
than  I  could  have  done." 


[78] 


CHAPTER  X 

"LET'S  go  into  the  hotel  parlor  until  the  proces 
sion  and  the  crowd  passes,"  and  Lois  helped  Laura 
lift  the  baby  cab  from  the  sidewalk  to  the  long 
veranda  of  the  Ross  House.  The  hall  door  stood 
open,  and  the  two  placed  themselves  just  within. 
Mrs.  Ross  came  from  the  parlor. 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Drayton — Miss  Lois!  Come 
in !  We'll  make  room  for  you  at  one  of  the  win 
dows." 

"No,  thank  you.  Please  don't  disturb  anyone," 
Laura  answered. 

"We  came  in  to  avoid  the  crowd,  because  of  the 
cab.  We  cannot  allow  you  to  incommode  your 
guests,"  added  Lois. 

But  as  Mrs.  Ross  insisted,  they  entered  the  par 
lor,  and  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  room  until  the  street 
grew  quiet.  It  was  one  of  the  demonstrations  of 
the  campaign.  Dan  Drayton  and  other  "eminent 
speakers,"  according  to  the  handbills,  were  to  ad 
dress  the  people  in  the  afternoon  at  Lakeview  Park, 
a  pretty  bit  of  woodland  within  the  town,  on  the 
bank  of  the  little  lake. 

[79] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

As  the  noise  died  away,  Laura  and  Lois,  thank 
ing  Mrs.  Ross  for  her  hospitality,  started  out.  They 
were  crossing  the  hall,  when  down  the  stairs  came 
a  tall,  handsome,  girlish  figure.  Her  lace  veil  was 
heavily  dotted,  but  Lois,  glancing  upward,  ex 
claimed:  "Oh,  Nan  Dever!"  and  clasped  her  in 
her  arms  as  she  reached  the  floor.  "What's  hap 
pened  to  your  manners,  you  bad  girl?"  giving  a 
shake  to  the  black-robed  figure  she  held  in  her  arms. 

"My  dear  Lois,  you  know — I  discarded  my  man 
ners  four  years  ago.  I  went  away  without  the  for 
mality  of  a  good-bye,  so  why  should  I  expect  old 
friends  to  say  'how  d'ye  do'  when  I  come  back?" 
Turning  to  Laura,  she  continued :  "Is  this  someone 
I  used  to  know?" 

"Basil's  wife  and  baby  Fred." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !" 

"Pardon  me — I  thought  of  nothing  but  you.  I 
guess  Laura  came  about  the  time  you  went  away." 

"Yes,"  shaking  hands  with  Laura  and  baby;  "the 
cards  were  out  for  the  reception  at  your  father's 
a  day  or  two  before  my  own  departure.  It  was 
an  oversight  of  mine  not  to  send  regrets,  but  I  was 
very  busy." 

"Of  course,"  Laura  said,  falling  into  the  spirit 
of  her  new  acquaintance,  "if  ever  a  girl  is  busy,  it's 
about  the  time  of  her  wedding." 

"Are  you  going  out,  Nan  ?"  Lois  asked.    "Come 
with  us,  and  tell  me  something  about  yourself." 
[80] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"I  was  only  going  for  a  walk — past  the  old 
place,"  and  the  dark  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "It's 
on  your  way  home,  if  you're  going  home." 

"Yes,  I'm  going  home.  You'll  go,  too,  Laura? 
— and  we'll  send  for  Basil." 

"No,  dear,  thank  you.  I'm  having  one  of  his 
special  dishes  to-day  for  luncheon."  And  with  a 
kindly  leave-taking,  she  turned  the  cab  in  an  oppo 
site  direction,  leaving  Lois  and  her  old-time  friend 
together. 

"You  and  Mrs.  Basil  seem  to  be  on  very  sisterly 
terms." 

"It's  more  than  seeming;  it's  real.  Laura's  one 
of  the  most  congenial  friends  I  ever  had.  But  tell 
me  about  yourself — and  Jack.  Is  he  here?" 

"No,  he's  not  here.  Poor  Jack!"  and  Mrs. 
Hammel  sighed.  "His  health  is  not — what  it  might 
be,  and  he's  grown  quite  discouraged." 

"Indeed?  I  always  thought  he  looked — very 
strong." 

"Yes,  he  looked  strong;  but  we've  been  living  in 
Chicago.  I  think  the  climate  is  bad  for  him — real 
ly,  it's  bad  for  anybody;  it's  vile.  Jack's  lungs 
never  were  strong,  his  mother  says,  though  I 
wouldn't  have  suspected  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
wanted  him  to  go  South,  or  as  far  west  as  Denver, 
at  least.  The  doctors  we've  employed  have  usually 
advised  California,  but,"  she  paused,  turned  her 
head  half  round,  but  still  Lois  saw  the  peculiar  ex- 
[81] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

pression  that  she  remembered  was  her  friend's  way 
of  recognizing  a  prevarication — "he  says  he  doesn't 
like  to  take  me  so  far  from  my  mother — as  if  the 
number  of  miles  could  make  any  difference !"  And 
she  laughed,  but  it  was  not  the  laugh  that  Lois 
remembered. 

At  the  moment  Lois  could  think  of  nothing  to 
say,  and  Mrs.  Hammel  continued :  "I've  been  here 
four  weeks,  and  mother  refuses  to  see  me.  We 
might  as  well  go  to  Jericho!" 

"Nan,  I'm  so  sorry !"  and  Lois  slipped  her  hand 
into  the  arm  of  her  companion.  "But  you  see, 
your  mother  has  been  quite  broken-hearted.  She 
goes  nowhere.  I  haven't  seen  her  since  you  went 
away.  You  can  see  for  yourself  how  neglected  her 
place  is.  The  market  people  use  the  gate  into  the 
alley  at  the  back.  Polly  meets  them  at  the  door, 
and  they  never  even  step  inside  the  kitchen,  ex 
cepting  when  it  is  too  stormy  or  too  cold  for  her 
to  keep  the  door  open  while  giving  an  order  or 
receiving  supplies." 

"Does  no  one  see  mother — not  even  Dr.  Mil- 
ford?" 

"Not  even  Dr.  Milford.  I  remember  hearing 
him  say,  oh — fully  two  years  ago — yes,  of  course 
— it  was  at  Fred's  christening,  that  he  had  called 
repeatedly,  when  your  mother  ceased  going  to 
church;  and  she's  never  gone  since  you  went  away; 
but  he  was  always  told  by  Polly  that  Mrs.  Dever 
[82] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

was  engaged,  and  could  not  see  him.  Then  he 
wrote  to  her,  and  she  replied  that  she  knew  his 
intentions  were  kindly,  but  she  could  not  meet  her 
friends  and  ignore  what  had  happened,  and  it  would 
be  extremely  disagreeable  to  talk  it  over;  so  she 
had  decided  to  see  no  one.  Women  friends  have 
called  repeatedly.  Mamma  and  I  called,  with  no 
better  success.  So  we  can  do  no  more.  But  what 
has  Polly  told  you  ?" 

"Polly  ?  Oh,  poor  old  girl !"  and  Mrs.  Hammel 
laughed,  but  dabbed  her  handkerchief  under 
her  veil — "she  cried  like  a  baby,  and  allowed  me 
to  stand  in  the  vestibule.  She  said  she  dared  to  do 
no  more,  while  she  went  and  spoke  to  mother.  But, 
though  she  cried  harder  than  ever  when  she  came 
back,  she  opened  the  door  with  the  chain  on — I 
heard  it  rattle — and  she  shook  her  head,  then  closed 
the  door  in  my  face.  I'm  sure  I  saw  you  that  day, 
you  and  this  new  sister,  and  the  baby." 

"Yes,  I  remember;  I  was  sure  it  was  you." 
"Jack's  health  is  worse  than  ever  this  spring,  and 
he  insisted  that  if  I  made  the  effort  I  could  make 
it  up  with  mother;  then  we  could  come  home,  and 
he  could  be  properly  cared  for." 

"I  fancy  it  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  you  to  do." 

"No,  it  has  not  been  easy;  and  I'll  be  honest  with 

you — if  it  had  been  all  for  Jack's  sake  I  wouldn't 

have  thought  of  it  for  a  minute,  but,  you  see,  at  the 

other  end  of  the  story  is  mother.     I'd  like  to  be 

[83] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

forgiven  for  my  own  sake,  and  hers.  I  can  work, 
and  I  can  do  work — enough  to  keep  Jack  and  my 
self  out  of  the  poorhouse.  I've  had  no  intention 
of  asking  mother  for  help.  But,  even  if  she  knows 
this — and  if  she's  read  my  letters,  she  must  know 
it — still,  she's  quite  relentless." 

"Anna,  you  don't  mind — I'm  sure  you  know  I 
love  you.  Tell  me  what  work  you  do." 

"Surely;  I  do  newspaper  work.  I'm  the  regular 
correspondent  for  one  daily  in  Chicago  and  one 
in  New  York.  I  also  write  fashion  articles,  with 
my  own  illustrations,  for  a  syndicate." 

"And  you  do  very  well,  do  you?" 

"Very  well.  If  Jack  could  work,  we'd  get  rich," 
and  she  laughed,  and  patted  Lois's  hand  as  it  lay 
on  her  arm,  "but  it  takes  a  good  sum  of  money  to 
take  care  of  a  sick  man." 

"Do  you  like  the  work?" 

"Yes,  I  like  it  very  much.  It's  quite  easy  for 
me.  Do  you  remember  Polly  used  to  say  'Ef  Miss 
Nan  had  everythin'  in  ekal  quantities  with  'er  gift 
o'  gab,  what  a  smart  girl  she'd  be?'  I  never  had 
a  chance  to  say  one-half  of  the  smart  things  I 
thought  of  until  I  begun  this  work.  What  a  pity 
I  didn't  marry  an  editor,  or  a  publisher  of  a  paper !" 
and  again  she  laughed. 

"Yes,  Nan,  that  would  have  been  nice.  Do  you 
sign  your  articles  and  letters  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  have  a  pen-name,  or  two,  for  that 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

matter.  When  I  write  for  some  fine,  high-toned 
ladies'  journal,  giving  advice  to  girls,  young  wives, 
and  mothers,  et  cetera,  I  am  'Alice  Howe.'  For 
those  letters  in  the  city  papers  I  am  'Joan  Stone.'  ' 

"You  are  'Joan  Stone!'  Well,  wonders  will 
never  done  ceasing !  Here  we  are  at  the  gate.  Come 
in,  dear!  The  folks  are  all  at  home  for  lunch — 
papa  and  Paul.  Come  in  and  see  mamma.  Let 
her  coddle  you.  How  Paul  has  laughed  over  the 
letters  of 'Joan  Stone.'  Come — come!  There  he 
comes!"  And  Mrs.  Hammel  was  drawn  through 
the  gate  and  up  the  walk.  Half  way  to  the  house, 
Paul  met  the  two.  His  face  was  glowing,  his  eyes 
dancing. 

"Oh,  Nan!"  he  exclaimed.  "Pardon— Mrs. 
Hammel." 

"No,  no,  Paul!  The  old  name,  please.  You 
don't  know  how  good  it  is  to  hear  it.  Kiss  me, 
Paul!  Just  like  old  times!  You  and  I've  been 
sweethearts  ever  since  you  wore  kilts  and  I  was  a 
long-legged  hoyden,  with  my  hair  in  a  pigtail." 

"That's  true,  Nan;  and  I  always  loved  you  more 
than  any  of  the  rest  of  the  boys  did." 

"I  believe  that " 

"And,  oh,  Paul!"  Lois  interrupted.  "It's  Nan 
who  writes  the  'Joan  Stone'  letters  that  you  like 
so  much!" 

"Yours,  Nan?     Why,  Nan!     They  ought  to 
pay  you  a  thousand  dollars  for  every  letter !" 
[85] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"But  they  don't,  Paul;  nobody  ever  did  appre 
ciate  me  but  you." 

The  welcome  within  the  house  was  none  the  less 
warm.  Uncle  Zeke  and  Aunt  Cleo,  hearing  un 
usual  sounds  of  hilarity  in  the  family  room,  came 
edging  in,  in  spite  of  Bett's  remonstrance.  Then 
Bett  followed,  and  all  exchanged  greetings  with 
Mrs.  Hammel.  So  they  called  her,  with  broad 
smiles,  and  shiny  eyes,  but  the  visitor  checked  them : 

"Say  Nan,  just  as  you  used  to,  Auntie,  Uncle. 
This  is  the  first  time,  since  I  came  to  Stillwater, 
four  weeks  ago,  that  I've  felt  that  I  was  really  in 
the  old  place.  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  the  old  name 
again !" 

"Wai,  Miss  Nan,"  said  Zeke.  "I  allus  did. say 
dat  nobody  was  zackly  like  you  all,  an'  I'm  mighty 
glad  to  call  you  des  Miss  Nan  till  de  las'  horn 
blows." 

"That's  right,  Uncle!  You  and  I  were  always 
fast  friends." 

"Yes,  dat  so.  Laws !  now  I  look  at  yo',  you's  des 
de  same  lil  black-eyed  gal  'at  usen  to  play  wid  lil 
Paul  w'en  all  de  res  done  run  off  an'  leab  'Im." 

"Oh,  Paul  and  I  ?  Of  course.  There  never  were 
two  other  such  chums !" 

"An5  I  reckon  yo'  done  recomembeh  w'en  you-all 
went  scootin'  down  de  hill  dar  by  de  lake  in  Paul's 
lil  'spress  wagon  ? — or  has  yo'  done  f o'got  all  'bout 
it?" 

[86] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Oh,  Uncle!"  And  Mrs.  Hammel  and  Paul 
shouted  with  laughter. 

"Wasn't  that  a  lark?"  she  said.  "Both  of  us 
would  have  been  drowned  if  you  had  not  been 
there." 

"Co'se  you-all  would;  but  yo'  see  ef  I  hadn't 
be'n  gwine  dah  dat  day  you-all  wouldn't  gone,  too." 

"What  was  it?"  Mrs.  Drayton  asked.  "Did  I 
know  of  it  at  the  time?" 

"Laws!  yes.  It  was  one  day  I  was  gwine  fo' 
to  get  a  hick'ry  stick  fo'  an  ax  handle,  an'  hyah 
was  Miss  Nan  jes'  gwine  home,  an'  Mista  Paul 
'lowed  he's  done  gwine  to  de  woods  wid  me  fo' 
suah.  Co'se  yo'  let  'im  go  wid  me,  an'  den  Miss 
Nan  reckoned  she'd  go,  too,  an'  she  run  in  an'  ast 
'er  ma,  an'  suah  nuf,  dey  all  went.  Lil  Paul  was 
in  de  'spress  business  dem  days,  an'  dat  HI  red 
wagon  went  ev'ywha  he  did,  'ceptin'  to  bed.  Dat 
day  some  time  he'd  ride,  den  Miss  Nan  she'd  ride. 
Wai,  we  got  to  de  lil  woods  by  de  lake,  sho',  an' 
Miss  Nan  she  done  ast  me  ef  I  recomembeh  w'at 
fun  dey  all  had  in  de  winteh  coastin'  down  dat  same 
lil  hill  w'en  dc  lake  was  froze.  Co'se  I  done  recom- 
membeh.  Den  I's  huntin'  fo'  dat  saplin',  an'  fust 
t'ing  I  knowed,  I  hyah  a  lil  squeal,  an'  dere  was 
Miss  Nan  an'  lil  Paul  flouncin'  roun'  in  de  watah, 
an'  dat  'spress  wagon  upside  fo'most,  an'  floppin'  's 
if  it  gwine  to  cross  de  'Lantic  Ocean.  I  tell  you-all 
de  grass  didn't  git  much  higher'n  it  was  w'ile  dis 
[87] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ole  niggah  done  some  sma't  fishin'  widout  no  hook 
an'  line.  Den,  jes'  's  soon's  dey  was  out,  w'at  Miss 
Nan  do,  but  des  laff ,  an'  roll  an'  tumble  on  de  grass, 
till  I  thought  she'd  done  bust  herse'f.  An'  she  des 
tuk  off  some  o'  her  clo's,  an'  some  o'  lil  Paul's,  an' 
den,  ba'footed,  she  run  an'  race,  an'  keep  goin'  til 
we  all  was  dry  an'  all  raidy  to  go  home.  An'  she 
say,  'Now,  Unk  Zeke,  ef  Paul  git  sick,  I'll  come 
an'  take  ca'  o'  him  night  an'  day,  an'  I'll  take  all 
de  money  outen  my  bank  to  pay  de  doctah.'  I  tell 
you-all,  Miss  Nan  allus  stood  by  her  own  se'f,  an' 
done  zactly  w'at  she  promise." 

"Seems  to  me  I  remember  it,"  said  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton,  "but  Paul  was  not  ill,  I'm  sure.  A  bath  like 
that,  on  a  warm  day,  shouldn't  make  anyone  ill." 

"No,  co'se  not,"  said  Cleo.  "An'  Miss  Nan, 
she  nebber  got  sick.  She's  allus  des  lak  a  rubbah 
ball.  She  nebber  got  hu't.  Seemed  lak  des  de 
ha'deh  she  fell  down  de  higheh  she'd  bounce." 

There  was  great  merriment  over  Zeke's  and 
Cleo's  recollections  and  opinions,  and  Mrs.  Drayton 
said: 

"It's  something  that  way  still,  isn't  it,  Nan?" 

Mrs.  Hammel  laughed,  saying:  "I  don't  be 
lieve  I've  bounced  very  high  lately,  but  I've  kept 
up  a  series  of  bumpings.  I've  never  rolled  entirely 
off  the  field." 

"Perhaps  the  batting  hasn't  been  sufficient  to 
make  you  bounce." 

[88] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Perhaps;  but  I've  felt  sometimes  as  if  I  was 
getting  some  pretty  hard  knocks,"  and  a  mist 
dimmed  the  laughing  eyes. 

"Never  mind,  Nan;  you're  young,  and  you're 
hungry,"  said  Mr.  Drayton.  "If  ever  I  find  my 
self  in  a  particularly  pessimistic  state  of  mind  I  con 
sult  the  nearest  time-piece,  to  see  if  I'm  not  hun 
gry Yes,  Bett,  we're  glad  to  get  your  call!" 

And  in  a  minute  they  were  seated  at  the  table  in 
the  cool,  old-fashioned  dining-room. 

"I'm  glad  we  have  a  plentiful  lunch  to-day,"  Mr. 
Drayton  said,  as  he  glanced  over  the  table.  "When 
we  have  these  political  demonstrations  there's  al 
ways  a  busy  day  at  the  store,  and  we  keep  long 
hours.  My  dear,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Drayton,  "you 
seem  to  fully  understand  the  situation." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  ?  Long  ago,  when  we  were 
young,  one  day  when  I  knew  you'd  be  especially 
busy,  and  scarcely  have  time  for  lunch,  I  prepared 
very  scantily,  and  I  was  quite  astonished  at  your  sor 
rowful  look  when  you  saw  the  table.  Then  you 
told  me,  as  folks  say,  gently  but  firmly,  that  if  ever 
you  were  tempted  to  suicide  it  would  be  some  day 
when  you  were  hungry  and  tired,  and  found  little 
to  eat,  and  no  time  to  eat  it." 

"Yes,  I  remember  it.  So  now,  Anna,  apply  the 
moral  to  yourself.  Treat  your  stomach  well  if  you 
want  to  keep  yourself  in  good  spirits  and  at  peace 
with  the  world." 

[89] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Dear  me!  I'm  afraid  my  stomach  will  rebel 
at  the  Ross  House  after  this  luncheon !  Isn't  Auntie 
Cleo  the  very  best  cook  in  the  world!" 

"We  think  so,"  Mrs.  Drayton  said,  "but  we're 
so  used  to  her.  That  makes  some  difference." 

"It  would  make  a  difference  that  you  would 
appreciate  if  you  had  to  live  in  boarding-houses 
a  while.  So  Dan's  housekeeping,  too?  Is  his  wife 
as  pretty  as  Basil's?" 

"No,  she  is  not.  She's  not  to  be  mentioned  in 
the  same  week  with  Laura  for  looks,  nor  for  any 
thing  else,"  Paul  answered. 

There  was  a  more  or  less  indefinite  protest,  or 
consent,  but  what  was  not  said  meant  more  than 
what  was  said.  Then  Mrs.  Hammel  asked : 

"Are  you  all  going  to  hear  Dan  speak  this  after 
noon?" 

"Basil  and  I  shall  not  have  time,"  Mr.  Drayton 
said.  "Paul  can  go." 

"Thank  you,  Daddy.  I  have  some  extra  work 
on  the  books.  Mother  and  Lois  can  go.  I'll  be 
generous,  too." 

"Yes,  I  think  we'd  better  go,"  Mrs.  Drayton 
said.  "Won't  you  go  with  us,  Anna?" 

"Thank  you,  yes;  I'll  be  delighted  to  go." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  Lois  said.  "And,  Nan!  Do 
you  remember  how  you  us^d  to  make  Dan  laugh  in 
school,  when  he'd  be  showing  off,  reading  an  essay 
or  something?" 

[90] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes;  but  it  was  usually  by  in  some  way  draw 
ing  his  attention  to  something,  or  making  him  think 
of  something  that  had  happened,  or  been  talked  of, 
before." 

"I  do  wish  you  could  catch  his  eye  to-day,  and 
make  him  grin  in  the  wrong  place." 

"Oh,  my!  That  would  never  do — to  spoil  his 
dignity  when  his  election  may  depend  upon  the  im 
pression  he  makes  in  the  opening  of  the  campaign." 

Mrs.  Drayton  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 


[91] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THAT  afternoon,  going  to  the  grove  where  the 
speeches  were  made,  turned  over  a  new  leaf  for 
Mrs.  Hammel,  or  rather  turned  back  to  an  old  one 
that  held  very  pleasant  reading.  She  met  old 
friends  of  her  own  and  her  mother's,  who  remem 
bered  when  she  was  born.  Girls  and  young  matrons 
with  whom  she  had  gone  to  school  greeted  her 
warmly,  but  scolded  her  affectionately  because  of 
her  behavior  since  returning  to  the  town. 

To  all  she  had  but  one  explanation.  She  re 
membered  every  one  of  her  friends  with  too  much 
love  to  risk  a  rebuff.  She  had  heard  indirectly  of 
the  attitude  of  her  mother  after  her  departure,  but 
she  could  not  have  believed  the  actual  state  of  the 
case  without  seeing  for  herself. 

She  told  how  she  happened  to  be  with  Mrs. 
Drayton  and  Lois.  She  had  been  kidnapped  on  her 
own  premises.  True,  there  had  been  the  most  per 
suasive  gentleness,  and  it  had  to  be  confessed  that 
the  kidnappers  might  need  some  assistance  in  rid 
ding  themselves  of  her,  since  she  was  one  person 
in  the  world  who  recognized  excellence  wherever 
she  found  it,  and  hung  on. 

[9*] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

All  was  so  like  the  old-time  Nan  Dever.  She 
was  assured  countless  times  that  she  was  the  same 
bright,  jolly,  fun-loving  and  fun-making  girl  she 
used  to  be,  and  she  would  be  allowed  to  make  a 
recluse  of  herself  no  longer. 

The  original  party  of  three  had  grown  to  a  score 
or  more,  and  had  secured  seats  in  a  good  position, 
where  they  were  joined  by  Laura. 

"I  called  for  Frances,"  she  said,  "but  the  maid 
told  me  she  had  already  gone,  so  she  must  be  here 
somewhere." 

They  looked  around,  but  did  not  discover  the 
missing  member  of  the  family.  Presently  Mrs. 
Hammel  heard  a  loud  whisper  in  front  of  her: 

"Yonder  comes  Mrs.  Dan  Drayton  an'  Mrs. 
Lew  Kimball!  My!  what  style  these  candidates' 
wives  put  on !" 

From  many  things  Mrs.  Hammel  had  heard 
about  the  new  Mrs.  Drayton  she  wondered  how 
much  hard  cash  that  lady  would  have  been  willing 
to  pay  to  have  heard  this  remark. 

The  two  women  thus  commented  upon  made  a 
pretty  picture  in  the  freshness  of  the  June  sunlight, 
in  their  new  summer  dresses,  with  hats  and  gloves 
to  match.  Lois  and  Laura,  in  their  plain,  tailored 
suits,  exchanged  significant  glances.  Another  loud 
whisper  was  wafted  to  Mrs.  Hammel's  ears: 

"I  didn't  know  this  was  to  be  a  full-dress  af 
fair." 

[93] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

The  answer  was  from  a  plain,  middle-aged  wom 
an  whom  Mrs.  Hammel  knew  by  sight: 

"Only  for  county  officers'  wives.  You've  heard 
Mrs.  Kimball  talk  of  what's  expected  of  them." 

"Yes;  who  hasn't  heard  her?  I'm  enough  of  a 
partisan  to  wish  the  whole  ticket  well,  but  I 
wouldn't  grieve  if  Sheriff  Kimball  should  fail  to 
be  re-elected." 

Then  Dan  Drayton  appeared  on  the  platform  ar 
ranged  for  the  speakers.  He  was  greeted  by  con 
tinued  applause,  and  he  turned  from  shaking  hands 
with  his  colleagues  to  bow  acknowledgments.  In 
casting  his  eyes  over  the  assembly  he  caught  sight 
of  his  mother  and  her  party,  and  bowed  his  family 
bow ;  then  his  face  lighted  up  with  pleased  surprise, 
and  holding  his  clasped  hands  at  arms'  length,  he 
gave  them  a  shake.  This  was  understood  and  an 
swered  by  Mrs.  Hammel,  with  a  laugh  and  a  wave 
of  color  in  her  face. 

"Dan's  long-distance  handshake,"  she  said  to 
Laura.  "How  well  he  looks,  and  how  proud  his 
wife  ought  to  be !" 

"I  think  she  is  proud,"  Laura  answered,  delib 
erately,  but  she  did  not  say  of  what. 

During  the  afternoon  this  remark  was  repeated 
many  times,  and  by  many  different  persons.  It  was 
plainly  evident  that  of  all  the  candidates  on  the 
platform,  not  one  was  as  popular  as  Dan  Drayton. 
For  this  there  were  many  reasons.  His  father  was 

[94] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

known  in  Stillwater,  through  twenty  years  of  busi 
ness  life,  as  a  man  not  only  honest,  but  honorable. 
No  other  merchant  held  the  confidence  of  the  coun 
ty  as  did  Frederic  Drayton.  He  had  always  been 
a  staunch  supporter  of  whatever  would  build  up 
the  town,  and  whatever  was  in  line  with  the  best 
thoughts  and  wishes  of  the  best  people. 

His  sons  had  walked  in  his  ways,  and  while  as 
boys  they  had  never  been  known  as  goody-goodys ; 
had  not,  as  a  rule,  carried  off  the  school  and  col 
lege  prizes ;  had  not  become  members  of  the  church ; 
still,  as  young  men  are  judged,  they  were  above 
reproach. 

Dan  would  not  give  much  time  to  electioneering. 
It  was  not  necessary.  Even  if  he  and  his  family 
had  been  less  popular,  the  strength  and  loyalty  of 
the  party  would  have  carried  him  through  safely. 
He  would  speak  at  some  few  places,  easily  accessible 
by  rail  from  Stillwater;  that  was  all. 

Frances  did  not  like  this.  She  had  not  grown 
past  a  love  of  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  having 
a  candidate  hurry  from  place  to  place,  to  be  met 
by  processions  with  banners  and  bands  of  wind  in 
struments,  which  escorted  him  to  his  hotel,  or  the 
place  in  which  he  was  to  speak.  There  at  the  right 
moment,  it  was  her  cue  to  pass  into  some  prominent 
reserved  seat  while  she  heard  herself  called  Mrs. 
Dan  Drayton  by  women  and  girls,  who  marvelled 
at  the  elegance  of  her  dress. 

[95] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

These  were  the  things  that  had  impressed  her 
as  a  child,  and  through  her  girlhood,  and  her  life 
had  possessed  nothing  to  dim  the  glory  of  such 
an  anticipation. 

This  day  she  had  her  first  experience  of  stand 
ing  in  the  limelight  of  her  husband's  popularity. 
She  and  Mrs.  Kimball  had  timed  their  coming,  and 
instructed  Kimball  to  secure  good  seats  for  them, 
well  in  front,  and  close  to  an  aisle.  "We  want  to 
see  as  well  as  to  be  seen,"  said  the  sheriff's  wife. 
"You'll  find  that  the  crowds  always  have  a  great 
interest  in  the  wives  of  the  candidates." 

Sure  enough,  Frances  heard  herself  spoken  of 
in  such  terms  as  made  the  waving  plumes  on  her 
handsome  hat  take  an  extra  exultant  quiver,  and 
her  languidly  swaying  fan  wafted  its  perfume  into 
the  faces  of  those  about  her  most  generously. 

But  the  brightest  day  that  ever  dawned  has  al 
ways  some  little  cloud ;  some  little  breeze  arises  that 
is  too  hot  or  too  cold  for  perfection.  So  Frances 
and  her  friend  had  but  comfortably  settled  their 
richly  rustling  silken  skirts,  to  the  evident  wonder 
and  admiration  of  some  of  their  immediate  neigh 
bors,  when  there  came  the  unpleasant  feature  into 
the  dream  of  reflected  glory.  Dan  had  accompa 
nied  the  two  women  to  the  grove,  and  as  they  were 
seating  themselves  he  was  answering  the  greetings 
of  the  people.  Then  Frances  saw  him  making  his 
long-distance  handshake.  Wondering  what  it  could 
[96] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

possibly  mean,  she  followed  the  direction  of  his 
eyes.  There,  in  "the  whole  nest  of  Draytons,"  she 
said  mentally,  and  spitefully,  "sat  that  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel,  or  Nan  Dever,  or  whatever  her  name  is!" 

Was  ever  anything  more  pointed?  Why  was 
this  woman  in  her  rightful  place  ?  True,  Lois  had 
spoken  to  her  about  coming  to  hear  Dan's  speech, 
and  Frances,  having  in  mind  the  program  which 
she  had  carried  out  with  Mrs.  Kimball,  had  not 
seconded  the  bid  of  her  sister-in-law  for  her  society 
on  that  afternoon.  Her  first  idea  was,  that  com 
ing  into  the  grove  with  Lois  and  the  rest  would 
likely  confuse  matters.  She  might  be  mistaken  for 
some  other  member  of  the  family. 

Now,  ten  chances  to  one,  many  of  the  country 
people  would  select  that  plainly  dressed  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel  for  the  wife  of  the  popular  candidate,  Dan 
Dray  ton. 

Plainly  dressed  Mrs.  Hammel  was,  but  her  bit 
terest  enemy  never  could  deny  her  that  peculiar 
air  that  is  named  style,  tone,  good  form;  it  was  na 
tive  to  her.  Frances,  watching  her  this  afternoon, 
could  not  deny  it.  Mrs.  Hammel  was — "swell." 
Her  plain  serge  dress,  her  plain  black  hat,  were 
imbued  with  the  personality  of  the  wearer.  They 
put  on  her  own  interpretation  of  propriety,  of  ele 
gance.  So,  after  so  many  ages,  again  Mordecai 
sat  in  the  King's  gate,  and  again  Haman  found  all 
his  honors  but  emptiness  and  vanity. 

[97] 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  warm,  still,  odorous  September  days  were 
on.  There  had  been  but  the  smallest  hint  of  frost. 
The  maples  were  slowly  changing  their  hue  of  rest 
ful  green  to  yellow,  russet,  and  crimson ;  but  it  was 
merely  the  ripening  of  the  full-grown  leaves. 

They  were  rivaling  the  colors  of  the  fruits  of 
the  orchards  and  vineyards  on  the  low  hills  and 
long  levels  of  the  farms  all  about  Stillwater. 

This  slow  departing  of  summer,  and  the  slower 
coming  of  the  cold,  is  nowhere  so  beautiful  as  in 
the  Middle  West  and  along  the  line  of  the  State 
capitals  of  Ohio,  Indiana  and  Illinois.  This  is 
the  mid-region  between  the  mountains  of  the  East 
and  the  West.  It  is  far  enough  south  of  the  great 
lakes  to  escape  the  biting  winds  that  sweep  over 
them,  and  yet  near  enough  for  all  the  benefits  ac 
cruing  from  the  great  bodies  of  fresh  water. 

The  wide  lawns  of  Stillwater,  that  in  the  early 
spring  put  on  their  verdure  so  rapidly  as  to  have  a 
seeming  of  undignified  haste,  and  gave  the  thrifty 
householder  an  idea  of  aggressiveness,  now  lay  in 
the  autumn  sunshine  like  beautiful  carpets — soft, 

[98] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

silken  prayer-rugs,  worn  to  smoothness  by  the  pres 
sure  of  the  feet  of  summer  days. 

"The  days  are  too  lovely  for  this  never-ending 
grind  of  human  life,"  Mrs.  Hammel  said  to  Lois  as 
they  walked  in  the  shade  of  the  maples.  "I'd  like 
to  go  to  the  woods  and  stay  till  the  storms  come." 

"My  dear,  you're  not  practical.  The  season  of 
camping  out  and  of  picnics  is  over.  Look  down 
past  the  most  of  these  pretty  houses.  Where  there 
are  no  high  lattice-fences  to  hide  the  rear  of  the 
lots,  you  see  carpets  and  rugs  on  the  lines,  refresh 
ing  themselves  for  the  winter  campaign.  Where 
we  don't  see,  we  hear  the  swish  of  the  brooms,  and 
the  steady  strokes  of  the  beaters.  This  speaks  of 
cleanliness  and  thrift." 

"Yes,  it  does;  and  it's  enough  to  turn  an  earth 
quake  loose  amongst  one's  poetic  sentiments  to  think 
of  one-half  the  disagreeable  work  that  is  required 
to  produce  that  ideal  spot — home." 

"But  there  are  people  who  do  this  work,  and 
are  glad  to  get  it,  so  as  to  live — even  outside  of 
the  places  they  help  to  make  habitable  for  people 
of  finer  tastes  and  smaller  muscles." 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  the  people  with  the  taste 
must  boss  the  job,  muscle  or  no  muscle;  there's  the 
grief  of  it." 

"But,  I  wonder  if  the  people  who  clean  the  car 
pets  and  scrub  the  floors  don't  regret  that  ever 
they  were  born  to  such  a  life?" 

[99] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"My  dear  Miss  Sentiment,  no;  they  don't!" 

"But,  Nan — such  a  woman  as  we  met  just  now ! 
Did  you  ever  notice  faces  like  hers?  So  seamed 
and  reddened  and  hardened;  her  hands  rough  and 
knotted,  her  very  gait  the  motion  of  the  toiler, 
slow  or  fast,  still  heavy;  and  that  constant  frown?" 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  thousands  of  them.  Most 
of  this  class  in  cities  are  foreign  born.  Here,  most 
of  them  are  natives,  if  not  of  the  town,  of  the 
county  or  the  State,  or  some  neighboring  State. 
They've  had  all  that  you  and  I  have  had:  homes 
to  shelter,  care  through  infancy  and  childhood,  the 
public  schools,  and  the  teachings  of  the  churches. 
They've  used  all  these,  just  as  you  and  I  have,  ac 
cording  to  their  natural  abilities,  or  rather  limi 
tations." 

"But,  Nan,  how  is  it?  Now  in  our  clubs — you 
know  clubwomen  are  nothing  if  not  reformers — 
we've  had  so  much  talk  about  our  responsibilities 
in  regard  to  this  one  class,  the  hard-working 
women." 

"Yes,  I  know;  and  that's  the  feature  in  women's 
clubs  that  makes  me  weary.  They  seem  to  think 
they've  formed  a  close  corporation  to  rectify  the 
mistakes  of  Omnipotence." 

"No,  not  quite  that.  We  try,  that  is,  our  club 
tries,  to  find  out  its  own  responsibility  in  the  mat 
ter  of  the  poor,  and  particularly  poor  women  who 
work  outside  their  homes." 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"It  never  took  me  very  long  to  discover  my  in 
dividual  responsibility  in  the  matter." 

"And  that?" 

"To  pay  them  their  own  prices  when  they  work 
for  me.  If  the  price  is  higher  than  I  can  afford 
to  continue,  I  say  I'll  not  require  their  services 
again.  If  price  and  work  suits  me,  I  continue  both ; 
and  when  I  have  a  cast-off  garment  that  is  usually 
much  better  than  I  ever  see  the  worker  wear,  I 
give  it  to  her.  Ten  to  one,  she  pops  it  on  the  very 
next  time  she  comes  to  wash  or  scrub,  and  it  seems 
she  believes  she  shows  her  appreciation  of  my  gen 
erosity  by  getting  the  garment  ragged  and  draggled 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"How  is  a  woman  to  wash  or  scrub  and  not  get 
draggled?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  never  tried.  But  did  you  ever 
see  Auntie  Cleo  or  Bett  anything  else  than  neat?" 

"No,  I  never  did.  I  never  thought  of  it.  Of 
course  they're  neat." 

"It's  the  same  way  with  women  in  other  posi 
tions  in  life.  A  born  slouch  will  be  a  slouch  till 
the  end  of  the  chapter.  It's  in  the  blood,  the  bones, 
and  the  general  make-up.  I'm  sure  I'd  know  one, 
even  after  she's  dead,  and  everything  done  to  make 
her  sufficiently  respectable  to  tempt  the  worms.  I've 
heard  a  woman  who  dabbles  in  literature  say  that 
she  couldn't  work — make  stories,  you  know — ex 
cepting  she  wears  an  old  wrapper,  old  shoes,  and 
[101] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

lets  her  hair  loose  down  her  back.  Judging  by  some 
work  I've  tried  to  revise  for  her,  I  think  she  must 
be  in  full  dress  all  the  time." 

"You  see,  Nan,  there's  a  great  deal  said  about 
people  who  do  the  hard  work  not  having  time  to 
cultivate  their  minds;  and,  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  had 
to  wash  and  scrub  and  cook  I  wouldn't  care  much 
for  anything  else.  I  would  not  have  time  and 
strength  to  care." 

"My  dear,  we  always  have  time  for  what  we 
care  to  do.  These  working  people  only  labor  a 
certain  number  of  hours;  or,  if  they  do  extra  work, 
they  get  extra  pay.  Did  it  never  strike  you  that 
if  any  of  these  folks  could  do  anything  else  tha.n 
the  work  they  frequently  do  very  badly,  they'd  be  at 
it,  and  we  might  whistle  for  a  washlady  or  a  scrub- 
lady,  and  at  last  try  our  own  talents  in  those  lines? 
Then,  too,  if  these  people  are  not  at  work  at  the 
only  work  they  can  do,  you'll  see  them  idling  away 
their  time,  women  as  well  as  men,  and,  likely  as  not, 
making  trouble  for  themselves  and  the  courts.  Did 
you  never  notice  how  many  Sunday  fights  there 
are?" 

"Yes,  I  have;  but,  Nan,  that's  what  puzzles  me ! 
These  people  ought  to  be  better  educated,  more  re 
fined,  than  they  are.  Where  does  the  responsibility 
rest?" 

"With  God,  I  guess;  not  with  me,  I'm  sure." 
[  102] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Oh,  Nan!  The  old  story,  am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?" 

"No;  the  cases  are  not  analogous — not  quite. 
Cain  was  hedging.  He  was  not  going  to  answer 
questions  that  would  incriminate  himself  or  tend 
to  degrade  him.  My  case  is  entirely  different." 

"Nan,  dear,"  and  Lois  laughed,  "how  you  would 
shock  some  of  the  Daughters  of  Endeavor!" 

"I  wouldn't  wish  to  shock  them,  if  I  met  them; 
but,  Lois,  I  cannot  be  a  reformer,  or  play  at  the 
impossible.  I'll  take  people  as  I  find  them,  try  to 
find  out  the  trend  of  their  character,  study  out  the 
puzzle  their  Creator  has  made,  if  I  can — but  I  am 
not  good  at  puzzles — then  do  anything  I  can  in 
the  way  of  letting  them  study  the  puzzle  of  them 
selves  for  themselves.  One  thing  the  reformers 
do  oftener  than  anything  else  is  to  put  up  their 
advice,  or  their  restrictions,  like  a  triple  line  of 
barbed-wire  fence  all  about  the  persons  who  are 
so  unfortunate  as  to  fall  into  their  hands  for  re 
pairs.  Advice  should  never  be  given  excepting  when 
applied  for,  and  then  only  in  homeopathic  doses.  I 
never  take  it  even  that  way." 

"But,  Nan,  when  I  see  people,  such  as  we've 
been  talking  about,  doing  things  in  a  wrong  way, 
I  want  to  tell  them  how  much  better  and  more 
prosperous  they'd  be  if  they'd — do  as — you  or  I 
would  do  the  same  thing,"  and  Lois  laughed  as  she 
squeezed  Nan's  arm. 

[  103] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes,  of  course ;  but  you  forget  that  along  with 
these  slipshod  ways  there  is  usually  a  headstrong 
temper,  a  will  that,  if  it  cannot  move  mountains, 
can  prevent  you  moving  even  a  molehill.  Amongst 
all  the  beautiful  things  and  wise  things  that  have 
been  said  by  our  greatest  American  poet,  this  one 
is  the  most  comprehensive:  'All  great  achieve 
ments  are  the  natural  fruits  of  a  great  character.' 
I  think  perhaps  the  reformers  had  been  after  Long 
fellow  for  a  contribution.  Inversely,  we  know  that 
if  one  achieves  nothing  that  is  great  or  good  it 
is  because  there  is  no  machinery  for  the  work.  If 
the  woman  we  met  can  only  work  with  a  broom, 
a  brush,  a  washtub  and  wringer,  it  is  because  the 
gray  matter  under  her  frowzy  hair  can  conceive 
of  nothing  else.  Her  head  is  only  a  back  kitchen, 
filled  with  things  of  that  kind." 

Lois  laughed:  "I  begin  to  get  some  idea  of 
'Joan  Stone's'  inspirational  moods.  I  wonder  what 
my  brain's  filled  with?" 

"There's  no  necessity  for  it  to  be  filled  with 
anything  but  pretty  accomplishments,  and  endeav 
ors  for  the  happiness  of  the  home  folks,  and  one 
more — a  passably  good-looking  chap,  who,  like  my 
self,  is  willing  to  'take  the  goods  the  gods  provide'; 
and,  going  one  point  ahead  of  me,  he'll  take  Lois 
Drayton  for  better  or  for  worse  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  date.  If  there  ever  comes  the  necessity  for 
[  104] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

you  to  work,  you'll  find  out  your  capabilities,  just 
as  I  have." 

"But,  Nan,  you're  a  genius!" 

"No,  I'm  not  a  genius.  I  have,  perhaps,  a  cer 
tain  faculty  for  stringing  words  together,  of  saying 
things  that  editors  think  will  please  their  readers. 
If  I  couldn't  do  this,  I'd  be  at  something  else — 
maybe  washing  and  scrubbing,  and  on  off  days  run 
ning  the  gauntlet  of  reformers.  But  what's  hap 
pened  to  the  world  ?  The  sunshine's  all  gone,  and 
sure's  I  live,  it's  raining!" 

"So  it  is !  But  we're  nearly  home.  Put  up  your 
sunshade,  and  let's  run." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  a  slow,  steady  rain,  beginning  in  an  un 
pretentious  way,  and  continued  without  cessation 
for  twenty-four  hours.  The  ripened  leaves  were 
weighted  with  dampness,  and  very  soon  the  walks 
were  carpeted  with  them.  Toward  evening  of  the 
second  day  the  wind  rose,  and  something  like  a 
hurricane  swept  over  the  country.  It  seemed  like 
a  belated  summer  tempest,  with  thunder,  lightning, 
and  torrents  of  rain.  All  night  the  storm  raged, 
and  the  wind  was  still  blowing  in  fitful  gusts  when 
the  light  came  on  the  third  day.  Towards  noon 
the  rain  had  nearly  ceased,  the  wind  dried  the 
leaves,  and  then  swept  them  from  the  trees  and 
vines  in  clouds. 

"Do  you  think  the  storm's  nearly  over,  Uncle?" 
Lois  asked  of  Zeke,  as  she  leaned  from  the  kitchen 
door  into  the  shed  where  he  was  filling  the  bins 
with  kindlings. 

"Don't  know,  Missy.  Yo'  see  hit's  'bout  time 
fo'  de  fus'  sto'm,  an'  wasn't  it  drefful?  You-all'll 
see,  w'en  de  clouds  blow  'way,  de  house'll  be  lighteh 
'  n  it's  be'n  since  airly  in  de  spring,  kase  de  leaves 
all  done  blowed  off." 

[106] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

"We'll  be  glad  to  have  it  lighter  than  it's  been 
for  the  last  two  days." 

"I  reckon  it'll  done  clah  off  bime  by.  Dis  wind's 
a  clahin'  off  wind.  It's  des  spyin'  roun'  to  see  ef 
de  sto'm  las'  night  done  missed  anything  dat  hit  can 
ca'y  off." 

"Oh,  is  that  it?  I  must  go  to  the  Ross  House 
this  afternoon,  and  if  it  keeps  on  raining  you'll 
have  to  drive  me  over." 

"Oh,  dat's  all  right.  You  an'  Miss  Nan  git 
mighty  lonesome,  seems  lak,  w'en  you-all's  pa'ted 
fo'  a  day  or  two." 

Lois  learned  later  that  Miss  Nan  had  not  been 
lonesome,  though  she  guessed  from  her  manner  that 
she  would  have  dispensed  most  willingly  with  her 
company. 

When  Lois  reached  the  hotel  Mrs.  Ross  met 
her  at  the  door,  and,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  drew 
her  into  the  parlor. 

"Mrs.  Hammel  asked  me  to  see  you,  and  tell 
you  that,  most  unexpectedly,  her  husband  is  here, 
and  he's — not  well,  an'  she'll  be  down  in  a  minute 
and  see  you  here,  instead  of  in  her  own  rooms." 
And  Mrs.  Ross  bustled  about,  fidgeting  the  window- 
shades,  examining  the  newly  lighted  fire,  and  dust 
ing  the  center-table  with  her  handkerchief. 

"When  did  Mr.  Hammel  come?"  Lois  asked. 

"Night  before  last;  and  however  it  happened, 
can  only  be  guessed,  but  he  missed  the  omnibus,  and 
[  107] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

walked  from  the  station  here.  Came  in  dripping 
and  wheezing  and  swearing,  and  he  hasn't  been  out 
of  bed  since." 

"It's  simply  dreadful,  isn't  it?  And  he's  really 
ill?" 

"Really  ill,"  and  Mrs.  Ross  nodded  her  head 
and  folded  her  arms.  "Threatened  with  pneumo 
nia,  so  Dr.  Mason  says.  You  probably  know  he 
hasn't  been  well  for  some  time — lung  trouble." 

"Poor  Nan  !    But  what  possessed  him  to  come  ?" 

"Ross  says  the  devil,"  and  Mrs.  Ross  laughed, 
and  pulled  her  brows  into  a  frown.  "You  know 
Ross  always  speaks  his  mind." 

"Yes,"  Lois  knew  it;  and  then  there  were  quick 
steps  on  the  stairs,  a  soft  rustle  of  skirts,  and  in 
came  Mrs.  Hammel,  with  great  cheerfulness  of 
manner.  But  the  purple  crescents  below  her  eyes 
told  a  story  that  contradicted  this  exuberance.  Mrs. 
Ross  arose  to  leave  the  room,  saying: 

"Now  I  guess  you  won't  be  disturbed.  I'll 
go  up  to  your  rooms  and  leave  the  door  open 
between.  If  Mr.  Hammel  wants  anything  I'll  see 
to  him." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Ross,  but  he's  just  had  his 
rest  powder,  and  will  probably  sleep.  I  was  so  sur 
prised!"  she  continued,  as  Mrs.  Ross  disappeared, 
"but  I  might  have  known  what  would  happen. 
Whenever  Jack's  not  quite  well,  no  one  can  man 
age  him  but  me.  His  mother  might  as  well  talk 
[108] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

to  a  jumping-jack;  and  lately  he's  had  a  very  bad 
spell." 

"Did  you  tell  me  you  were  living  with  Jack's 
mother?" 

"Not  that  I  remember.  We've  had  other  and 
more  interesting  things  to  talk  about  than  my  do 
mestic  affairs.  But  that's  what  we've  been  doing. 
After  Jack  was  ill,  three  years  ago,  until  I  got  to 
work,  we  could  have  lived  in  no  other  way,  ex 
cepting  in  the  county  poorhouse.  All  his  folks  have 
been  very  good  to  us.  His  mother  is  one  of  the 
kindliest  women  I  ever  knew." 

"She  ought  to  be  kind  to  her  own." 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  her  own  had  no  sort  of 
business  to  marry  when  he  knew  he  could  scarcely 
make  a  living  for  himself." 

Lois  looked  out  of  the  window,  for  once  ill  at 
ease  with  her  friend.  She  felt  that  Mrs.  Hammel 
was  not  herself.  She  had  probably  been  shamed 
and  embarrassed  by  the  coming  of  her  husband. 
No  doubt  she  was  hindered  in  her  work  by  his 
presence,  to  say  nothing  of  his  illness. 

Lois  said:  "Hasn't  it  been  a  tedious  storm? 
Doubly  so  after  the  weeks  of  lovely  weather." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I've  scarcely  known  any 
thing  about  the  weather  since  Uncle  Zeke  brought 
me  home  on  the  first  rainy  evening.  I  felt  like 
work.  Our  talk  had  crystallized  a  lot  of  floating, 
nebulous  ideas,  some  of  which  had  been  left  over 

[  109  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

from  cutting  and  making  a  lot  of  articles  and  sto 
ries.  I  worked  quite  late  that  night,  and  was  just 
putting  things  to  rights  when  Jack  came.  It's  a 
good  thing  I  was  up  and  wide  awake.  He  was 
soaked  through  from  the  outside  with  rain,  and 
from  the  inside  with  bad  whiskey." 

Lois  started  and  looked  shocked.  Mrs.  Hammel 
laughed. 

"See  what  a  woman  of  experience  I  am.  I  don't 
even  bother  to  hold  my  tongue  and  let  someone  else 
tell  you  that  I'm  too  green  or  too  blind  to  know 
a  tipsy  man  when  I  see  one.  If  there's  any  one 
thing  in  the  world  I  despise  more  than  another, 
it's  a  woman  who  lies  to  cover  a  man's  sins.  It's 
more  than  I  can  do  for  my  own." 

"Oh,  Nan!"  And  Lois  leaned  forward  and 
clasped  the  pale,  slim  hands.  "So  you've  had  that 
vice  to  bear  with,  too?" 

"Yes,  along  with  my  other  blessings  that  insist 
on  turning  seam  side  out."  She  stopped  to  laugh 
as  she  patted  Lois's  hands. 

"Several  things  that  have  happened  to  me  within 
the  last  few  years  have  reminded  me  most  forcibly 
of  a  very  pretty  little  umbrella  I  had  when  I  was 
about — fifteen.  It  was  so  delicate  and  genteel.  I 
felt  as  your  sister  Frances  says,  'too  swell  for  any 
thing,'  with  my  umbrella  neatly  wrapped  and 
strapped,  on  days  when  there  were  only  symptoms 
of  rain.  But  when  the  winds  rose  and  the  floods 
[no] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

fell,  then  did  that  deceiving  beauty  either  turn  itself 
wrong  side  out,  or  let  the  rain  through  on  my  most 
cherished  millinery.  One  day,  when  I  was  leaving 
your  house,  I  met  Uncle  Zeke  at  the  gate.  It  was 
beginning  to  rain  a  little  and  to  blow  a  little. 
Uncle  very  gallantly  opened  my  umbrella  for  me. 
When  he  felt  the  small  weight  of  it,  and  saw  how 
neat  and  pretty  it  was,  he  said,  'Tell  you  w'at,  Miss 
Nan,  yo'  done  got  a  daisy  umbrella !'  In  the  next 
minute  the  breeze  turned  it  up  like  a  cup — made 
it  a  daisy,  sure  enough.  I  laughed  until,  by  the 
time  I  reached  home,  I  was  quite  hysterical.  I  think 
of  that  falsifying  umbrella  a  great  many  times,  and 
moralize  over  it." 

"But,  dear,  not  all  your  blessings  show  the  seamy 
side;  some  of  your  friends,  for  instance,  stand  by 
you  in  the  storms." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed!  But,  really,  I've  never  had 
anything  to  call  a  storm.  My  troubles  have  been 
more  like  the  first  evening  of  this  'spell  of  weather' 
— just  drizzly  and  disagreeable  enough  to  beat  out 
my  bright  prospects,  as  the  rain  stripped  the  beau 
tiful  trees  of  their  garments." 

"I'm  glad  your  mother-in-law  has  not  been  a 
weak  umbrella." 

"No,  she's  no  relation  to  that  umbrella ;  neither 
are  any  of  the  rest  of  the  Hammels,  save  one  who 
shall  be  nameless.  They  are  all  much  more  re 
spectable  than  Jack  and  I.  Pa  Hammel  is  a  master 
[in] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

mechanic,  and  is  very  highly  respected.  One  son 
is  a  doctor  of  medicine,  and  another  has  a  large 
notion  store.  Two  sisters  are  married,  and  in  very 
comfortable  circumstances.  The  youngest  of  the 
family,  Beatrice,  was  graduated  from  a  high  school 
two  years  ago,  and  she's  teaching  in  the  public 
schools.  Jack's  mother  is  very  philosophic  and 
cheerful,  and  frequently  makes  funny  speeches 
about  him  when  some  women  would  be  crying  their 
eyes  out.  One  night,  when  she  and  I  were  watching 
with  him  in  an  illness  brought  on  by  dissipation,  she 
said  she  supposed  she  oughtn't  to  grumble,  though 
it  was  pretty  hard  to  have  a  respectable  family 
stained,  but  she  had  noticed  that  'there  is  no  flock, 
however  well  descended,  but  one  black  sheep  is 
there.'  I  told  her  it  was  a  shame  to  travesty  that 
beautiful  poem.  She  said  Longfellow  spoke  from 
his  point  of  view,  she  from  her  own." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  the  last  Thursday  of  September,  the  open 
ing  of  the  club  year  of  "The  Daughters  of  En 
deavor."  Lois  called  for  Mrs.  Hammel  to  go  with 
her.  The  society  was  to  consider  the  conditions 
of  laboring  people,  and  try  to  formulate  some  meth 
ods  of  bettering  them.  There  were  to  be  some 
special  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  class  that  find  it 
necessary  to  put  their  children  to  work  as  soon  as 
they  are  of  lawful  age,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  education  of  the  children  is  not  at  all  what  it 
should  be. 

Even  in  so  small  a  town  as  Stillwater  there  were 
people  so  poor  as  to  be  more  than  willing  to  send 
their  children  to  the  paper  mill,  the  starch  factory, 
the  woolen  mills,  and  the  retail  stores,  to  work  for 
eight,  or  ten,  or  twelve  hours  out  of  the  twenty- 
four  for  the  sake  of  the  few  dollars  paid  them. 
It  was  this  class,  and  a  few  families  that  always 
had  to  depend  upon  charity,  that  "The  Daughters 
of  Endeavor"  wished  to  assist  to  better  their  con 
dition. 

Mrs.  Hammel  said  her  husband  was  quite  com- 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

fortable,  and  she  would  go  to  the  meeting.  She 
was  interested  to  know  what  the  women  would  say, 
and  she  had  been  asked  to  give  her  ideas  concerning 
women's  clubs  in  a  syndicate  article.  It  was  all 
in  the  line  of  business. 

The  first  hour  of  the  meeting  was  occupied  by 
picking  up  the  business  stitches  of  the  club  and  re 
ceiving  the  congratulations  of  the  president  and 
each  other,  that  they  came  together  in  good  health, 
and  not  one  member  had  passed  irretrievably  from 
their  midst  since  the  last  meeting  in  May. 

Next  in  order  was  the  paper  of  the  day.  The 
reader  advocated  the  establishment  of  industrial 
schools  for  girls  of  from  eight  to  sixteen  years,  or 
older,  and  outlined  a  stupendous  plan  for  disposing 
of  the  surplus  time  of  children,  especially  girls. 
When  the  paper  was  finished  it  was  discussed  under 
strict  parliamentary  rules. 

The  member  to  open  the  discussion  was  Mrs. 
Mason — Mrs.  Dr.  Mason  her  cards  were  en 
graved,  because  she  was  the  wife  of  Dr.  John  Ma 
son.  She  was  fair,  florid,  and  showily  dressed.  She 
was  noted  for  her  style,  her  elegant  poses,  and  her 
piety.  She  thought  eight  years  was  too  young  to 
put  a  child  to  learning  to  sew  or  do  any  kind  of 
work.  The  schools  might  be  held  to  account  by 
the  laws  regulating  child  labor. 

"But,"  a  slim,  trim,  dark  woman,  Mrs.  Simcoe, 
hastened  to  explain,  "this  is  not  labor.  It  is  simply 

[114] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

training  for  future  usefulness.  Now  when  I  was 
ten  years  old  I  could  make  my  own  dresses,  and 
I  could  also  cook  a  good  plain  dinner,  thanks  to  a 
New  England  mother." 

"Madam  President!"  came  a  girlish  voice  from 
the  far  end  of  the  room,  "I  would  like  to  ask  the 
member  if  she  makes  her  own  dresses  now." 

"No,  Madam  President,  I  do  not.  Dresses  are 
much  more  difficult  now  than  when  I  was  a  child." 

"Madam  President!"  and  a  gray-haired,  dark- 
eyed  woman  arose.  "Are  the  children  in  these 
schools  to  be  taught  all  branches  of  domestic  work? 
Will  they  be  expected  to  learn  cooking,  whether 
they  wish  to  or  not? — and  sewing,  even  though 
they'd  rather  shoe  horses?" 

The  president  arose,  asked  the  first  officer  on 
her  right  to  occupy  the  chair,  and  replied : 

"I  think  the  object  of  the  industrial  schools  is 
to  teach  little  girls,  or  big  girls,  as  the  case  may 
be,  to  be  well-trained,  all-round  useful  women.  Since 
women  must  do  so  many  things  that  are  distasteful, 
in  many  instances,  it  seemed  well  to  teach  them  how 
to  do  all  things  pertaining  to  the  ordinary  woman's 
life  in  the  most  approved  way." 

"Seems  to  me,  Madam  President,  and  ladies, 
that  this  will  cause  a  great  waste  of  time."  This 
speaker,  Mrs.  Moss,  had  a  strong  voice,  strong, 
clear-cut  features,  and  a  tall,  symmetrical  body. 
"This  is  an  age  of  specialties.  I  wish  I  had  all  the 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

time  I  wasted  in  learning  to  sew  seams  and  knit 
stockings.  I  was  compelled  to  learn  them,  by  an 
other  New  England  mother,  and  I  did,  with  many 
tears.  I  had  to  fill  certain  spaces  of  time  in  sewing 
long  seams.  Oh !  I  could  have  curtained  the  heav 
ens  with  the  cotton  cloth  I  sewed,  sometimes  with 
a  running  stitch  and  a  back  stitch,  sometimes  with 
overcasting,  sometimes  with  hems  and  fells.  See 
how  I  remember  my  tortures!  The  knitting  was 
as  bad.  I'd  fill  the  allotted  time,  then,  wrapping 
my  smarting  fingers  in  my  little  soiled  handkerchief 
that  I  had  hemstitched,  I'd  take  Fox's  'Martyrs' 
from  the  bookcase  and  read  some  of  the  worst  ones. 
One  day  my  father  looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  I 
paused  and  raised  my  tear-stained  eyes.  'Daugh 
ter,'  he  said,  'did  any  of  them  have  as  bad  a  time 
as  you're  having?'  I  sighed,  and  spoke  my  little 
thought:  'I  don't  know — they  died — in  a  few 
days.'  He  laughed,  and  shot  a  peculiar  glance  at 
my  mother.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  understood 
why  he  was  merry  while  I  was  so  miserable.  I 
think,  and  I  speak  as  a  woman,  as  a  mother,  as  a 
physician,  that  if  we  are  going  to  try  and  help 
people  who  seem  to  be  unable  to  help  themselves, 
we  would  better  study  their  capabilities — try  to 
discover  the  trend  of  their  powers,  and  then  teach 
them  to,  in  a  measure,  understand  themselves,  and 
let  them  work  out  the  problem  of  their  own  lives 
on  their  own  plans." 

[116] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Madame  President!"  said  a  pale,  sentimental- 
looking  woman.  "I  do  not  agree  with  the  last 
speaker.  Many  of  these  people  are  too  weak  men 
tally  to  think  for  themselves.  We  must  think  for 
them,  and  act  for  them.  Sometimes  I  wonder  what 
our  Heavenly  Father  thinks  of  us,  who  are  strong 
and  sound,  that  we  neglect  to  help  those  who  are 
weak  and  inferior.  I  feel  that  in  these  schools  that 
we  are  trying  to  establish  the  work  cannot  be  too 
comprehensive.  We  must  teach  these  poor  children 
how  to  be  self-supporting  in  many  ways,  so  that  if 
one  way  fails  they  can  do  something  else  equally 
well." 

The  next  speaker,  Mrs.  Macy,  was  a  woman 
who,  as  her  neighbors  said,  "has  good  sense,  and 
knows  the  world  and  the  folks  in  it."  She  said 
that  she  was  not  sure  that  she  could  consistently  ad 
vocate  this  all-round  education,  instead  of  special 
izing.  How  could  these  weaklings  be  made  over 
into  universal  geniuses  ?  "Not  long  ago,"  she  said, 
"I  was  East  to  visit  an  aunt  who  lives  in  the  old 
home  of  my  grandparents.  In  the  basement,  or, 
more  properly,  the  cellar,  I  saw  the  kettles  for  boil 
ing  soap,  and  the  candle-moulds  that  my  grand 
mother  used  when  she  made  up  the — means  of  puri 
fying  and  lighting  her  house  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end.  My  aunt  said  that  when  she  was  a 
little  girl  she  had  to  learn  to  do  these  things,  and 
sometimes  she  grew  so  rebellious  she  felt  like  up- 

t»7] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

setting  the  big  kettles,  either  of  tallow  or  soap.  By 
the  time  she  was  grown,  the  work  had  been  taken 
up  by  men.  They  had  studied  out  more  rapid 
methods." 

"Yes,  and  made  money  by  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Moss.  "Women,  nowadays,  would  better  be  utiliz 
ing  their  wits  on  some  sort  of  invention  than  toiling 
over  the  hard  work  that  their  foremothers  died  of/' 

"Madame  President!"  It  was  Mrs.  Milford 
who  spoke.  "Speaking  of  making  candles  in  the 
old-fashioned  moulds  that  used  to  be  found  in  every 
house,  reminds  me  of  'dips,'  and  also  of  the  first 
and  last  of  the  abominations  I  ever  saw.  It  was 
when  I  was  a  little  girl.  My  sister  Rachel  had 
married  into  a  New  England  family,  and  lived 
about  twenty  miles  from  home.  She  had  been  away 
a  few  months  when  our  mother  was  taken  ill,  and 
Rachel  came  home  for  a  few  days.  She  made  an 
inspection  of  the  house,  and  found  that  the  stock 
of  candles  was  nearly  exhausted.  We  were  living 
on  a  farm,  four  or  five  miles  from  the  village,  and 
it  was  a  very  busy  time.  Of  course,  there  were 
all  the  inconveniences  in  the  house  for  moulding 
candles,  but  Rachel  said  she'd  make  some  'dips.' 
Presently  she  had  a  kettle  of  tallow  melting  on  the 
kitchen  range.  While  waiting  for  it  she  looped 
some  lengths  of  wicking  on  a  smooth  stick.  Then 
the  kettle  was  carried  out  and  placed  in  the  shade 
of  a  cherry  tree,  and  Rachel  sat  by  it  and  dipped 
[118] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

those  wicks  into  the  hot  tallow,  then  held  them 
out  until  it  should  cool  and  form  a  crust;  then 
dipped  them  in  again.  It  was  in  the  early  days  of 
September,  and  you  may  guess  the  cooling  process 
was  not  rapid.  I  sat  watching  her,  and  taking  care 
of  my  little  brother.  Father  came  by,  and  he 
stopped  to  look  at  the  manufacture  of  candles  by 
dipping.  I  saw  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  and  by  and 
by  he  said :  'Rachel,  is  this  one  of  the  smart  Yankee 
tricks  you've  learned  of  your  mother-in-law?'  and 
Rachel  answered  meekly,  'Yes,  father.'  'Well,  my 
girl,'  he  said,  'I  think  if  they  had  tried  Job  with 
this  work,  results  with  him  would  have  been  dif 
ferent.'  I  did  not  then  understand  the  joke,  but 
Rachel  looked  shocked  as  she  laughed.  Later  in 
the  day  I  called  my  brother  to  see  the  forlorn  lit 
tle  'dips'  hanging  in  the  tree.  I  told  him  about 
the  process  of  making,  and  also  that  father  said 
Job  would  surely  have  sworn  if  he  had  to  make 
candles.  Since  then  I've  thought  much  of  the  use 
less  work  that  women  have  been  compelled  to  learn, 
as  if  it  was  a  part  of  the  scheme  of  salvation.  Some 
of  this  work  is  as  tedious  as  dipping  candles,  and 
not  of  as  much  use  when  done.  I  agree  with  the 
member  who  advocates  the  study  of  the  capacities 
of  our  pupils.  Let  us  first  educate  ourselves  in 
this  particular,  so  that  we  may  not  set  tasks  that 
are  useless  and  institute  tortures  for  our  fellow- 
men." 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Madam  President!"  It  was  Lois  who  spoke. 
"This  question  is  much  too  large  for  me.  I  had 
no  idea  how  many  views  might  be  taken  of  so  small 
a  matter  as  to  teach  or  not  to  teach  a  little  girl  to 
sew  or  cook,  or  dust  a  room,  or  wash  dishes.  In 
the  face  of  all  the  wit  and  wisdom  brought  to  bear 
on  the  subject  I  am  silenced.  But  we  have  an  old 
friend  amongst  us  to-day,  one  who  is  interested  in 
these  matters,  one  who  is  known  to  the  newspaper 
world  as  'Joan  Stone'  and  'Alice  Howe,'  but  whom 
we  know  and  love  as  Anna  Dever  Hammel.  I 
am  sure,  if  she  is  permitted,  she  will  say  something 
that  we'll  be  glad  to  hear." 

Over  Mrs.  Hammel's  pantomime  protests  the 
motion  was  made,  the  vote  taken,  and  the  president 
invited  Mrs.  Hammel  to  come  to  that  end  of  the 
parlor  and  face  the  audience,  so  that  all  might  see 
her.  She  looked  very  bright  and  girlish,  with  the 
pink  tinge  in  her  cheeks,  scarlet  on  her  lips,  and 
her  dark  eyes  flashing  with — no  one  could  tell 
whether  it  was  enthusiasm  or  ridicule. 

"Madam  President,  and  ladies,"  came  in  a  low, 
musical,  and  penetrating  voice.  "This  is  most  kind 
to  you.  The  kindness  will  be  evident  to  yourselves 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  not  a  reformer.  All 
along  the  lines  of  reform,  as  I  hear  of  it,  I'm  a 
veritable  heretic.  Of  all  the  tedious,  worthless  work 
that  women  have  set  for  their  hands  to  do,  reform 
ing  is  the  most  barren  of  results.  True,  you  may 
[  120] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

say  that  I  cannot  possibly  have  had  experience.  Not 
much,  I  grant,  but  experience  is  the  severe  dame 
who  keeps  an  expensive  school,  and  measures  out 
long  terms.  It  is  in  this  school  that  women  have 
toiled  for  so  long  at  making  candles,  and  soap,  and 
patchwork  quilts,  and  rag  carpets,  and  all  those 
crochetted  monstrosities,  instead  of  using  their 
brains,  which  would  surely  have  grown  by  the  ex 
ercise,  and  not  grown  ugly  and  disfigured,  as  were 
their  toil-hardened  hands.  I  have  been  thinking, 
instead  of  experimenting.  I  have  solved  the  prob 
lem  to  my  own  satisfaction.  The  member  who 
wonders  what  our  Heavenly  Father  thinks  of  us 
has  the  wrong  handle  of  the  matter.  'Shall  not 
the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?'  If  we  admit, 
for  the  sake  of  consistency,  that  there  is  an  intelli 
gence  taking  note  of  these  affairs  of  ours,  it  seems 
to  me  that  this  intelligence — we  may  call  it  Heav 
enly  Father;  it's  only  a  name,  anyway — might  very 
reasonably  wonder  what  we  think  of  His  handi 
work,  and  the  inexorable  laws  that  govern  the 
whole  outfit.  Long  ago  Omar,  the  tentmaker,  was 
of  this  mind  when  he  said : 

"  'O  Thou  who  man  of  baser  earth  didst  make, 

And  even  with  Paradise  devise  the  snake, 
For  all  the  sin  wherewith  the  face  of  man 
Is   blackened,    God's   forgiveness    give,    and 
take.' 

[121] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Madam  President,  and  ladies,  I  thank  you  for 
your  kindly  attention." 

The  speaker  went  back  to  her  chair,  while  the 
applause  was  tempered  with  whisperings,  and 
frowns  of  disapproval. 

When  the  meeting  was  adjourned,  Mrs.  Milford 
was  one  of  the  heartiest  of  the  handshakers  who 
surrounded  Mrs.  Hammel,  and  she  managed  to 
whisper: 

"Oh,  you  happy  thing!  You  dare  to  speak  your 
honest  thought !  You  couldn't  do  it  if  you  had  mar 
ried  a  preacher." 

Mrs.  Dr.  Mason,  the  exponent  of  style  and«relig- 
ious  propriety,  stood  aloof.  She,  as  a  representa 
tive  of  the  church,  and  the  "best  society,  felt  that 
something  sacrilegious  had  been  said.  Who  was 
Omar,  anyway?  Not  a  professional  man,  surely, 
if  he  was  a  tentmaker! 

Mrs.  Mason  was  at  her  best  when  posing  before 
an  audience  and  advising  women  to  always  see  that 
their  homes  were  in  order  before  trying  to  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  their  husbands,  "the  ap 
plause  of  listening  senates  to  command." 

This  quotation  was  one  of  her  stock  expressions, 
and  one  day  Mrs.  Macy  assured  her  that  there  were 
no  listening  senates  nowadays.  Senators  never  made 
any  pretence  of  listening  to  each  other;  that  they 
might  have  listened  in  Gray's  time,  but  not  in  our 
own. 

[  122] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

In  spite  of  that,  Mrs.  Mason  claimed  the  privi 
lege  of  being  shocked  by  Mrs.  Hammel.  Later, 
Mrs.  Hammel  said  she  was  not  shocked  in  the  least 
when  Mrs.  Ross  told  her  that  her  chambermaid, 
who  had  formerly  worked  for  Mrs.  Mason,  said 
that  this  graceful  embodiment  of  style,  religion,  and 
general  propriety,  had  boxed  the  ears  of  her  grown 
daughter  for  neglecting  her  prayers,  and  had  locked 
her  grown  son  in  his  room  for  two  days  for  daring 
to  practice  "Blue  Bells  of  Scotland"  on  his  mando 
lin  on  Sunday. 

Mrs.  Hammel  said  that  was  just  like  her.  She 
had  no  doubt  she  would  do  worse  things. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  a  bright  October  day,  the  day  before  the 
election. 

The  Ross  House  omnibus  was  at  the  door,  and 
the  driver  called:  "All  aboard  for  Chicago  ex 
press  !  Time's  up !" 

Then  out  of  the  door  came  a  tall,  slouching  fig 
ure,  enveloped  in  a  long  gray  ulster,  and  with  a 
silk  muffler  about  his  neck.  The  man  seemed  to 
be  in  a  bad  temper.  He  was  muttering  and  pro 
testing,  but  Mrs.  Hammel,  who  supported  him  by 
one  arm,  and  held  fast  to  him  even  while  Mr.  Ross 
assisted  him  into  the  vehicle,  answered  cheerily: 
"Oh,  yes;  you'll  go  through  all  right — only  a  few 
hours'  ride.  I've  already  spoken  to  Conductor 
Simms,  and  I'll  wire  your  father  to  meet  you.  Your 
mother  wants  you,  and  she  can  care  for  you  better 
than  I  can.  You  need  Will's  advice,  too." 

When  Mrs.  Hammel  returned,  Mrs.  Ross  said : 

"Well,  of  course,  it's  your  own  business,  but 
seems  to  me,  if  it'd  been  my  husband,  I'd  'a'  kept 
'im  with  me  till  he  was  a  little  stronger.  I  wouldn't 
'a'  sent  'im  to  Chicago,  of  all  places." 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"I've  done  what  I  think  best,  Mrs.  Ross,"  Mrs. 
Hammel  answered  wearily.  "He's  much  less  ex 
pensive  there  than  here.  He  can  live  at  home,  and 
his  brother,  Dr.  Will  Hammel,  can  supply  his  medi 
cines.  The  climate  of  Chicago  will  not  hurt  Jack 
as  much  as  he'd  hurt  himself,  and  me,  as  soon  as 
he's  able  to  be  out.  He's  able  now,  but  Dr.  Mason 
has  purposely  refused  to  allow  him;  and  he  and  I 
together  could  not  have  kept  him  in  longer  than 
to-day.  Most  particularly  I  didn't  want  him  here 
to-morrow,  as  he  was  determined  to  go  out." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  Mrs.  Ross  said.  "Well,  each  one 
of  us  knows  our  own  troubles  best." 

If  Mrs.  Ross  had  kept  strictly  to  facts,  she  might 
have  confessed  that  it  was  a  trifle  doubtful  if  Mrs. 
Hammel  had  known  her  troubles  for  the  last  few 
weeks  any  better  than  her  hostess.  The  Ross  House 
was  an  old  wooden  building,  with  thin  partitions 
and  badly  fitting  doors.  Mrs.  Ross  heard  some  of 
the  conversations  of  her  guests,  unavoidably.  Other 
conversations  she  would  not  have  avoided  hearing 
if  she  could.  Sometimes  she  was  not  above  listening 
to  the  reports  of  her  chambermaid. 

More  than  once,  within  the  time  that  Jack  Ham 
mel  had  been  a  guest  in  her  house,  had  Mrs.  Ross 
heard  him  berating  his  wife  for  her  lack  of  success 
in  gaining  admittance  to  her  mother,  and  "making 
it  up  with  her." 

To  these  reproaches  sometimes  Mrs.  Hammel  re- 

[125] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

plied  patiently,  persuasively,  sometimes  perempto 
rily  commanding  silence  on  the  subject,  and  some 
times  not  at  all. 

One  day  Mrs.  Ross  heard,  and  later  she  had  rea 
son  to  remember  it,  that  Hammel,  more  than  usu 
ally  irritable,  had  said  savagely:  "I  do  wish  the 
old  heathen  would  die !  She  must  leave  her  be 
longings  to  you,  and  there  she  sits,  not  enjoying 
anything,  and  I  suffering  for  lack  of  what  is  right 
fully  mine  I" 

To  this  Mrs.  Hammel  had  answered  in  her  usual 
voice : 

"You  have  no  claims  upon  my  mother's  belong 
ings.  Of  course,  if  she  sees  fit,  she  can  leave  her 
real  estate,  and  anything  else  she  possesses,  to  me. 
If  she  chooses,  she  can  leave  it  to  someone  else.  It 
is  her  own,  absolutely." 

Then  there  was  a  volley  of  oaths,  and  the  sick 
man  seemed  to  be  walking  about  the  room. 

Mrs.  Ross  was  a  kindly  woman,  and  sympathetic, 
and  she  was  really  glad  to  have  Hammel  out  of  the 
house.  Mrs.  Hammel  was  much  more  cheerful  af 
ter  he  was  gone. 

In  the  afternoon  of  this  day  she  went  out  to  mail 
her  literary  work.  The  day  was  fine,  and  on  her 
way  back  from  the  post  office  she  walked  up  and 
down  in  front  of  her  mother's  house  several  times. 
She  could  see  no  one,  and  she  entered  the  grounds 
and  gathered  a  handful  of  asters  that  grew  in 
[126] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

amongst  the  weeds  of  a  border  she  used  to  culti 
vate. 

As  she  was  going  away,  much  to  her  surprise, 
Polly  came  from  the  house,  down  across  the  ragged 
lawn. 

"Oh,  Miss  Nan!"  she  said,  "I'm  so  glad  to  see 
ye!" 

"Good  old  Polly!"  and  Mrs.  Hammel  kissed  her 
brown  cheek.  "Let  me  look  at  you.  You  see  my 
mother  every  day,  and  talk  to  her,  and  touch  her — 
oh,  Polly!" 

"Yes,  Miss  Nan.    Nobody  sees  'er  but  jes'  me." 

"How  is  she,  Polly— well?" 

"Yes,  she's  well,  I  guess.  She  never  complains, 
an'  has  a  good  appetite,  an'  sleeps  all  right.  She's 
takin'  her  nap  now." 

Then  the  two  stood  there  together,  talking  and 
crying.  They  were  not  far  from  the  gate,  and 
only  half  hidden  by  the  shrubbery.  As  they  stood 
there  Dan  and  Frances  Drayton  passed,  and  they 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Hammel.  Then  Polly,  turning  to 
see  them,  broke  out  crying  harder  than  ever  as  she 
said: 

"Oh,  Miss  Nan !  Ef  you'd  on'y  'a'  married  him 
how  happy  we'd  'a'  be'n !" 

"There,  Polly!  Don't  cry,  please!  And  why 
should  you  say  that?  Mr.  Drayton  never  thought 
of  me  in  that  way.  We  were  good  friends,  because 
Lois  and  I  liked  each  other,  and  Paul,  too.  Poor 

[  127] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

little  Paul!  He  and  I  were  the  best  friends  of 
all!" 

"Course,  I  know  'at  mebbe  you  an'  him  wasn't 
jes'  promised,  but  I  know  jes'  as  well  you  would  'a' 
be'n  ef  you'd  'a'  waited." 

"But,  Polly,  I  loved  Jack  all  the  time.  I  never 
thought  of  anyone  else  as  I  did  of  him.  Don't 
grieve  about  it.  Mr.  Drayton  has  a  nice  wife,  and 
if  my  husband  is  something  of  a  disappointment  it 
can't  be  helped.  Many  women  and  men  are  disap 
pointed  in  marriage.  Jack  and  I  started  out  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world.  Now  he's  ill, 
and  I'm  afraid  he'll  never  get  better,"  and  she 
sighed. 

"Mebbe  ef  he'd  die  your  mother'd  take  you 
home  ag'in." 

"Did  she  ever  say  anything  of  the  kind?" 

"Not  ezackly.  She  says  very  little  about  any 
thing;  but,  course  she'd  never  let  him  come  into 
the  house." 

"How  does  she  pass  her  time?" 

"She  reads  an'  writes  an'  sews.  She  doesn't  use 
a  sewin'-machine  now  any  more.  She  sews  every 
thing  by  hand,  so's  to  fill  up  more  time." 

"And  does  she  never  go  outdoors?" 

"Never,  as  I  see;  an'  she  never  sees  anyone  to 
speak  to  but  me." 

"Poor  mother!  Her  mind  is  surely  unbalanced. 
[128] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

She's  kind  to  you?  She  doesn't  get  angry  and 
scold?" 

"Never!  Ef  I  makes  any  mistakes,  which  I 
don't  once  in  six  months,  bein'  so  used  to  the  house 
an'  her  ways,  an'  ef  I  break  anythin',  she  jes'  says, 
'Never  mind,  Polly;  it  don't  matter.  Nothin' 
matters  any  more,'  an'  I  guess  that's  right.  She 
won't  have  your  room  touched  to  be  aired,  or  swept, 
or  dusted,  an'  for  more'n  a  year  the  door's  been 
locked.  I've  looked  through  the  keyhole,  an'  it's 
dark  's  shades  an'  blinds  can  make  it." 

Tears  were  slowly  rolling  over  Mrs.  Hammel's 
cheeks,  and  she  stood  staring  at  the  faithful  wom 
an,  the  only  person  who  had  spoken  to  her  mother 
within  the  last  four  years. 

"Is  that  you,  Nan?"  came  pleasantly  from  the 
street,  and  Mrs.  Hammel  hastily  brushed  away  her 
tears  and  turned  to  see  Lois  Drayton  peering 
through  the  shrubbery. 

"Yes,  dear !  Good-bye,  Polly,"  and  she  pressed 
the  hard  hand  that  tried  to  detain  her. 

"Come  again,  please,  Miss  Nan.  Come  every 
day — please  do!" 

"I  will,  Polly,  if  it  doesn't  make  trouble  for 
you.  I'll  be  glad  to  come.  At  what  time?" 

"Jes'  'bout  this  time.  Your  mother  most  allus 
rests  nearly  all  the  afternoon,  an'  then  I  lock  the 
doors  an'  walk  about  in  the  fresh  air.  Come  to 


morrow." 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"I  will,  then.  Good-bye!"  and  Mrs.  Hammel 
kissed  her  cheek. 

"Poor  Nan !"  and  Lois  caressed  her  as  she  might 
baby  Fred.  "So  Jack's  gone  home?  I've  been  to 
the  hotel  to  see  you,  and  came  this  way  slowly,  hop- 
wig  to  meet  you.  Come  home  with  me,  dear, 
mamma  expects  you.  They're  all  at  home  this  even 
ing,  and  I  want  you  to  meet  Dan's  partner,  Mr. 
Hale.  Dan  says  he's  a  sort  of  a  member-in-law 
of  the  family  now." 

Mrs.  Hammel,  still  dabbing  her  eyes,  looked 
sidewise  at  Lois.  "I  wonder  if  he  won't  be  another 
sort  of  a  member  of  the  family  by  and  by." 

"Oh,  my,  no!  I  don't  want  to  marry,  nor  does 
Mr.  Hale,  as  far  as  I've  been  able  to  observe." 

"No,  girls  and  men  don't  usually  want  to  marry; 
at  least,  they  carry  no  placards  announcing  that  to 
be  the  case.  I've  met  Mr.  Hale.  He's  very  nice. 
He  has  a  good,  strong  face,  and  sometimes  hand 
some  men  have  brains." 

Lois  laughed.  "I  hope  Mr.  Hale  is  one  of  the 
favored  ones ;  at  least,  I  hope  he  has  sufficient  brains 
to  take  care  of  Dan's  interests — after  to-morrow." 


[  130] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"WHAT  is  it,  Nan  ?    Have  you  lost  something?" 

"I  thought  I  had  an  extra  handkerchief,  but  I 
guess  not." 

"Let  me  supply  you." 

The  two  were  together  in  Lois's  room,  freshen 
ing  their  toilets  before  going  down  to  dinner.  Mrs. 
Hammel's  pilfered  nosegay  was  put  into  a  vase  un 
til  she  should  go  home. 

"I'll  get  more  to-morrow.  Poor  little  dwarfs ! 
This  is  the  first  time  I've  gone  into  the  grounds  for 
two  months.  Then  I  tried  to  induce  Polly  to  let 
me  into  the  house.  I  fancy,  if  I  could  get  in  and 
take  mother  by  surprise,  I  could  force  a  reconcilia 
tion;  but  Polly,  though  seemingly  heart-broken, 
could  not  be  persuaded.  But  if  mother  never  goes 
out,  I  hope  I'll  not  disturb  her  by  loafing  about 
the  grounds.  Seeing  me  there,  even  from  the  win 
dows,  she  may  relent.  Anyway,  I'll  see  good  old 
Polly,  and  we  can  cry  our  eyes  out  together." 

Those  who  knew  Frances  Drayton  best,  and  had 
grown  to  dread  her  capricious  temper,  saw  that 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

there  was  a  storm  of  some  magnitude  in  the  air 
as  soon  as  Lois  and  Mrs.  Hammel  entered  the  room 
where  the  family  were  gathered,  awaiting  dinner. 

Dan  at  once  acknowledged  the  change  in  the 
temper  of  his  wife  by  an  exceeding  iciness  of  man 
ner  towards  Mrs.  Hammel,  but  no  one  else  gave  the 
least  sign,  save  Paul.  He  caught  Laura's  eye,  pre 
tended  to  shiver,  drew  his  coat  together  one  more 
button,  and  remarked  on  the  likelihood  of  a  frost 
very  soon. 

"It's  the  frost  that's  going  to  catch  our  friends, 
the  enemy,  to-morrow  at  the  polls,"  said  Philip 
Hale;  and,  turning  to  Mrs.  Hammel,  he  continued: 
"Are  you  a  political  writer  in  any  sense?" 

"Only  in  the  way  of  touching  results  very  light 
ly — moralizing  a  little,  by  way  of  comforting  the 
defeated." 

"Nan  sings  the  song  of  failure,"  said  Basil,  and 
turning  to  her  he  said,  "You  know  most  of  the  can 
didates;  you  can  go  serenading  to-morrow  night." 

"Better  go  to-night,  wouldn't  I?  Play  Cassan 
dra,  or  the  prophetic  banshee." 

"They  need  no  prophet,"  said  Mr.  Drayton. 
"It's  a  foolish  thing  to  have  two  parties  where  one 
is  so  much  in  the  majority." 

"Perhaps  the  minor  party  stands  by  its  princi 
ples,"  Frances  said. 

"Now  we  never  supposed  they  had  any,"  Paul 
said  drily.  "Likely  as  not,  they  do  think  they're 

[  132] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

right.  It's  a  lack  of  education  makes  them  think 
so,  I  guess." 

Frances  shot  a  glance  at  Paul  that  was  full  of  dis 
like,  if  not  downright  hatred. 

Lois,  seeing  the  mood  of  her  sister-in-law,  and 
guessing  the  reason  for  it,  spoke  to  Philip  Hale 
very  quietly,  asking  him  to  be  especially  attentive 
to  Mrs.  Hammel. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  was  his  ready  answer, 
while  his  eyes  questioned  her. 

"I  do  wish  it  most  earnestly.  Some  time  I  may 
explain,  if  you  have  not  already  guessed  my  rea 
son." 

"Perhaps  I  have  guessed,"  and  his  glance  wan 
dered  indifferently  toward  Frances. 

They  were  interrupted  by  little  Fred,  who  was 
making  a  tour  of  the  room,  touching  each  one  of 
the  company,  and  pronouncing  the  name  and  rela 
tionship  to  himself,  sometimes  with  the  addition 
of  an  endearing  or  complimentary  epithet.  Mr. 
Drayton  had  been  patted  as  "nice,  dood  g'anpa." 
Laura  was  "my  own  s'eet  mamma."  Basil  was  al 
ways  "Pitty  papa."  When  the  little  fellow  came 
to  Lois,  she  received  a  rapturous  hug  on  her  skirts, 
and  was  told  that  she  was  "Baby's  doodest  Auntie 
Lois."  No  one  had  paid  any  attention  to  Fred,  so 
that  his  next  move  was  unnoticed  save  by  the  two 
most  concerned.  He  turned  to  Hale,  looked  at  him 
inquiringly  for  an  instant,  then  placing  his  hands 
[  133] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

on  the  young  man's  knees,  said  distinctly,  "Baby's 
nice  Unca  Pil  Hale." 

"Hello!  hello!  Is  that  so,  little  captain?"  and 
he  leaned  over  the  baby  while  he  gazed  steadily  at 
Lois.  "Am  I  your  uncle?"  and  he  lifted  the  child 
to  his  knee.  "Did  auntie  say  so?" 

"For  shame!"  Lois  said,  just  above  a  whisper. 
"Baby's  Uncle  Zeke's  out  in  the  garden  taking  care 
of  the  chrysanthemums." 

"But  Unca  Pil  Hale  not  in  ga'den." 

"No,  Uncle  Phil's  right  here,  little  boss.  Ask 
auntie  if  I'm  not  your  uncle,  sure  enough." 

The  obedient  baby,  turning  to  Lois,  lisped :  "Su' 
'nough,  auntie?" 

"Tell  him  no.  You  want  an  uncle  who  can  speak 
for  himself." 

"I'll  speak  for  myself,  now  remember,  and  this 
youngster  may  have  my  purse  for  helping  me." 

All  the  evening  Hale  was  in  a  most  exultant 
mood,  and  he  entertained  Mrs.  Hammel  most  loy 
ally,  even  walking  with  her  to  the  Ross  House, 
though  Basil  and  Laura  offered  their  services.  He 
might  have  walked  all  night  for  all  the  need  he 
felt  of  sleep. 

In  the  midst  of  the  "good-nights"  he  found  op 
portunity  to  say  to  Lois :  "I'll  speak  to  your  moth 
er  and  father  at  their  earliest  convenience." 

No  answer  in  words,  but  there  was  a  flash  like 
blue  lightning  from  a  rose-colored  cloud,  and  he 

[134] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 


was  satisfied.  The  question  that  had  been  racking 
the  young  lawyer's  brain  for  months  was  asked,  and 
answered  by  the  chance  intervention  of  a  little  child. 


[135] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"WHAT  was  that?" 

"What  was  what  ?  I  heard  nothing  but  the  noise 
of  the  cheering  over  the  returns." 

"No,  it  was  something  moving,  in  there  amongst 
the  shrubbery,  and  I'm  almost  sure  I  heard  a  half- 
suppressed  cough." 

"You're  nervous,  Nan.  It  isn't  to  be  wondered 
at  in  this  neighborhood.  I  heard  nothing;  did  you 
notice  anything,  Paul?" 

"I  thought  the  cough  was  back  of  us,"  Paul  an 
swered,  undecidedly,  "but  just  as  we  passed  the  cor 
ner,  where  we  got  a  good  view  of  Mrs.  Devers 
lawn,  I'm  sure  I  saw  a  shadow — something,  a  man 
or  a  woman,  seemed  to  be  walking  near  the  house, 
and  the  head  reached  out  into  the  moonlight,  past 
the  shadows  cast  by  the  house." 

"Oh,  Paul!  are  you  sure?"  and  Mrs.  Hammel 
clasped  his  arm  tightly. 

"It  must  have  been  a  cat,  Paul,"  Lois  said  hur 
riedly,  "and  the  cough  was  by  the  four-footed  ma 
rauder,  too.  Don't  you  remember,  Nan,  there  was 
[136] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

a  sprig  of  catnip  amongst  the  asters  you  gathered 
yesterday?  Some  poor  Tom  or  Maria  has  a  cold 
and  is  out  for  medicine  before  going  to  bed." 

"I  remember  the  catnip,  and  I  remember,  too, 
that  it  always  grew  here  abundantly,  if  left  undis 
turbed;  but  that  was  not  a  cat's  sneeze  that  I  heard. 
I've  thought  a  great  many  times  of  the  danger  that 
mother  and  Polly  are  in,  living  here  all  alone.  It  is 
a  common  story — gossip  that  a  certain  class  in 
dulges  in — that  mother  is  hoarding  her  income  in 
the  house.  Mrs.  Ross  has  spoken  of  it  several 
times.  Of  course,  I  do  not  feel  like  going  to  the 
bank  to  inquire,  but  I'll  ask  Polly  to-morrow." 

"They  ought  to  have  a  special  watchman.  Here 
comes  the  patrol — I'll  speak  to  him." 

Mrs.  Hammel,  Lois  and  Paul  had  been  passing 
the  evening  with  Laura  while  Basil  waited  for  the 
incoming  election  returns.  They  were  on  their  way 
to  the  Ross  House,  when,  on  passing  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Dever,  Mrs.  Hammel  was  startled  by  the 
sound  of  what  seemed  to  her  a  smothered  cough. 

Lois  walked  nearest  the  curb,  and  was  speaking 
at  the  time,  so  she  had  not  noticed  the  sound  that 
was  quite  distinct  to  the  other  two. 

Paul  spoke  to  the  policeman  they  met,  and  at 
their  request  the  officer  went  all  about  the  grounds 
and  reported  everything  quiet.  He  said  further  that 
he  frequently  did  this,  feeling,  as  did  Mrs.  Ham 
mel,  that  the  two  solitary  women  were  a  temptation 

[  137] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

to  those  who  were  on  the  watch  for  houses  easily 
looted,  and  well  worth  the  work. 

There  was  nothing  more  said  about  it,  but  when 
they  came  to  the  street  leading  to  the  Ross  House, 
Lois  insisted  on  Mrs.  Hammel  going  home  with 
them  for  the  night. 

"You're  nervous,  Nan.  I'm  not  sure  that  it's 
a  good  thing  for  you  to  see  Polly  every  day.  It 
keeps  your  grief  continually  fresh." 

"I'm  going  to  see  her  every  day,  just  the  same, 
for  a  while,  at  least;  then  I  may  as  well  go  away. 
I  think,  too,  that  what  God  hath  joined  is  a  hum 
bug.  I've  an  idea  that  probably  I'll  go  East  instead 
of  West.  No,  thank  you,  dear,  I'll  not  go  home 
with  you.  No  need  of  taxing  you  out  of  your  wits 
because  you're  generous.  I  guess  I've  had  too  much 
dissipation  for  the  last  two  days.  The  reaction  is 
on,  and  I  feel  as  if  the  world  was  coming  to  an 
end." 

"Now,  my  dear  old  sweetheart,"  Paul  said,  as 
he  pressed  her  arm  and  patted  her  hand,  "don't 
you  know  that  the  world  is  round,  and  has  no  end, 
as  is  my  love  for  you,  my  friend?" 

"Yes,  Paul,  I  know,"  and  Mrs.  Hammel 
laughed.  "I'm  sure  I'm  not  hungry — you  know 
that's  your  father's  way  of  accounting  for  low  spir 
its.  1  think  if  I  take  my  dumps  home  and  let  the 
disease  run  its  course — just  be  as  wretched  as  I  pos- 

[138] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

sibly  can  be  to-night — I'll  be  able  to  get  myself 
well  in  hand  to-morrow  and  go  on  in  the  old  way." 

After  leaving  her  at  the  hotel,  Paul  and  Lois 
went  briskly  homeward.  At  the  first  street  they 
had  to  cross  they  barely  missed  a  party  of  men, 
perhaps  a  half  dozen,  who  were  talking,  laughing, 
and  singing  snatches  of  campaign  songs.  As  they 
passed,  one  said: 

"Oh,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Prosecutor,  this  is  a  soft 
snap  you've  got!" 

"Think  I've  really  got  it?"  Dan  Drayton  asked. 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes!  You  had  it  in  June!"  and  the 
company  passed  on,  escorting  the  successful  candi 
date  to  his  own  door. 

There,  Frances  met  them  most  cordially,  and  in 
sisted  that  they  should  all  come  in.  She  had  pre 
pared  a  little  supper,  and  she  was  sure  there  would 
be  enough  for  all. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  party  sat  in  the  din 
ing-room,  then,  with  hearty  congratulations,  they 
took  their  leave. 

One  of  the  most  hilarious  of  the  party,  a  young 
lawyer,  who  had  been  graduated  in  the  class  with 
Dan,  said  at  the  gate : 

"Now,  Dan,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  practice 
it'll  give  you,  and  to  rouse  this  old  burg  out  of 
its  coma,  I  hope  some  worthless  lout  will  slaughter 
some  other  lout.  You'll  defend  the  commonwealth, 

[  139] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

and  I'll  put  my  mettle  against  yours,  and  ladle  out 
legal  flap-doodle  for  the  murderer." 

In  the  midst  of  the  laugh  that  followed  this  wish, 
"good-nights"  were  said,  and  the  party  went  away. 

As  the  door  closed  on  the  husband  and  wife, 
Frances  said: 

"Dear  me !  I  s'pose  if  Marshall's  wish  should 
come  to  pass,  your  mother'd  have  a  fit." 

Dan  frowned,  but  said  nothing.  He  had  not 
the  least  premonition  that  the  joke  of  his  friend, 
much  modified,  would  be  the  news  to  greet  him 
next  morning  over  the  breakfast-table. 

Mrs.  Hammel  met  Mrs.  Ross  in  the  hall  of  the 
second  floor,  where  she  was  entering  her  own  sleep 
ing-room. 

"It's  been  a  noisy  night,  hasn't  it?"  said  the  hos 
tess,  "and  you  look  tired  to  death." 

"I  guess  I  am  tired,  though  I  haven't  been  in 
the  noise.  It  was  very  quiet  at  Basil  Drayton's ;  no 
visitors  there  but  Paul,  Lois,  and  I." 

"I  hope  you'll  sleep,  and  feel  all  right  in  the 
morning." 

"I  hope  so."  And  going  one  flight  higher,  Mrs. 
Hammel  entered  her  own  rooms. 

One  window  was  open,  and  the  moonlight  lay 

in  a  square  on  the  floor.     She  sat  by  the  window, 

without  lighting   the   gas,   and,   drawing   off   her 

gloves,  dropped  them  on  the  floor.    Hat  and  jacket 

[ 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

followed  them,  and  there  in  the  moonlight  she  sat, 
unconscious  of  the  air  that  was  growing  chill,  of 
the  hurrahing  that  came  across  the  quiet  streets,  of 
the  light  that  arose  from  the  bonfire,  lit  by  the 
enthusiastic  victors  of  the  day.  She  realized  only 
that  she  was  Anna  Dever  Hammel,  the  most  abject 
ly  miserable  woman  in  the  world. 

The  depression  that  had  wrapped  her  for  the 
last  few  hours  like  a  cloud  of  mist  seemed  now  to 
press  upon  her  like  a  tangible  garment. 

Perhaps  Lois  was  right.  Perhaps  she  would  bet 
ter  not  go  to  meet  Polly  every  day,  there,  so  near 
that  her  mother  might,  if  she  cared,  hear  the  sound 
of  their  voices ;  but  she  did  not  care. 

She  leaned  her  folded  arms  on  the  window-sill 
and  looked  toward  her  mother's  house  as  she  so 
liloquized: 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  any  woman,  any  moth 
er,  could  be  so  unforgiving.  Since  my  mother  is, 
and  I  am  her  flesh  and  blood,  perhaps  it's  a  good 
thing  that  my  baby  died.  When  Mother  Ham 
mel  told  me  that  I  might  see  the  day  when  I'd  be 
thankful  for  the  loss,  I  couldn't  believe  her;  but 
she  was  right.  I've  seen  a  lot  of  such  days,  but, 
oh,  me!  I  hope  I  won't  see  many  more  of  any 
kind !"  And  dropping  her  head  on  her  arms,  a  few 
big,  slow  tears  forced  themselves  from  her  eyes. 
These  were  tears  that  come  with  a  burning  and 
aching  through  the  eyeballs,  and  the  ache  has  strong 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

roots  in  the  breast  that  rend  and  tear  as  if  being 
drawn  out. 

Such  tears  come  when  one  suffers  what  cannot 
be  resented;  when  the  one  from  whom  we  expect 
only  cherishing  kindness  is  cruel  as  death;  when 
one's  own  blood  is  unkind  and  unjust. 

Not  long  did  Mrs.  Hammel  sit  thus.  Presently 
she  arose,  picked  up  her  outdoor  garments,  and  put 
them  in  their  proper  place.  As  she  turned  from  the 
press  there  was  a  tap  on  the  door. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  with  her  face  close  to 
the  loosely-fitted  panel. 

"Only  I,  Mrs.  Hammel.  I  heard  you  moving 
about.  Are  you  sick?  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Ross !  '  No,  thank  you.  I'm  sorry  I 
disturbed  you."  She  opened  the  door.  "Will  you 
come  in?  I've  been  sitting  in  the  moonlight." 

"No;  I'll  go  back  to  bed.  No,  you  didn't  dis 
turb  me.  I  ain't  easily  disturbed;  but  I  thought 
maybe  you'd  been  so  worried  out  with  Mr.  Ham- 

mel's  sickness,  and  all But,  good-night.  Go 

to  bed,  and  you'll  feel  all  right  in  the  morning." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you.  Good-night!"  And  she 
closed  the  door,  and  really  hurried  in  her  prepara 
tions  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SLEEP  was  not  long  in  coming  to  Mrs.  Hammel 
when  she  signified  her  readiness  for  it.  She  con 
fessed,  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  that  it 
was  good  that  she  could  pay  for  a  comfortable  bed, 
and  pass  her  leisure  with  such  pleasant  friends  as 
she  found  here  in  the  town  where  her  mother  chose 
to  live  as  one  dead. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  soothing  drowsiness,  of 
a  calmness  and  content  stealing  over  her,  and  then 
— she  felt  sure  she  had  but  just  gone  to  bed,  and 
yet  she  was  wide  awake.  She  felt  rested  and  re 
freshed,  and  the  room  was  light. 

"I  ought  to  have  closed  the  blinds  and  shut  out 
the  moonlight.  I'll  do  it  now."  She  turned  in 
bed,  set  her  foot  on  the  floor,  and  then:  "How 
silly!  It's  the  sun!" 

It  was  morning,  and  the  little  clock  on  the  shelf 
said  nine. 

Then,  still  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  she 
became  conscious  of  movements  in  the  hall,  of  whis 
pers  that  came  hissing  through  the  thin  partitions 

[143] 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

much  more  distinctly  than  would  words  spoken  in 
an  undertone. 

Someone  was  saying:  "Does  she  always  sleep 
so  late?  What  time  did  she  get  in  last  night?  I 
saw  'er  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening  going  to 
Basil  Drayton's." 

Someone  answered :  "She  came  home  some  time 
after  eleven,  but  she  wasn't  feeling  quite  well,  an' 
I  won't  let  you  disturb  'er.  She'll  hear  all  about 
it  soon  enough.  Wait  till  she's  had  'er  breakfast." 

The  person  outside  the  door  might  wait,  but 
Mrs.  Hammel  would  not.  She  caught  up  a  long 
flannel  wrapper,  threw  it  on  over  her  nightgown, 
and  hurried  to  the  door.  Two  women  were  walk 
ing  down  the  hall. 

"What  is  it,  Mrs.  Ross?  What's  happened?  Is 
Mr.  Hammel  here?" 

"Laws,  no,  Mrs.  Hammel !  And  Mrs.  Ross  hur 
ried  to  her,  waving  away  the  other  woman,  whom 
Mrs.  Hammel  recognized  as  a  neighbor  of  her 
mother's. 

"Now  come  right  inside  an'  put  on  your  clothes." 
And  Mrs.  Ross  pushed  her  into  the  room  and  closed 
the  door. 

Mrs.  Hammel  saw  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  her  hands  trembled,  though  they  clung  to  her 
with  a  touch  like  a  caress. 

"Just  wait  a  minute,"  she  said.  "I'll  call  Phoebe 
through  the  tube  to  bring  your  breakfast.  Keep 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

your  door  closed."  And  she  disappeared  down  the 
hall. 

Mrs.  Hammel  felt  inclined  to  laugh,  though  she 
was  touched  by  the  manner  of  her  hostess. 

"I  wonder  if  she  thinks  I'm  ill,  or  has  she  had 
some  news  from  Jack?  Well,"  and  she  compressed 
her  lips,  "maybe  I  did  an  imprudent  thing  to  pack 
him  off  so  soon,  but  I  thought  it  best,  and  so  did 
his  mother  and  brother.  And  to  think  of  Mrs. 
Ross  telling  me  to  keep  my  door  closed — while  I'm 
dressing !  Queer  people,  are  some  that  the  Good 
Man  made!  He  must  be  something  of  a  joker 
— on  the  quiet." 

She  dressed  herself,  not  very  leisurely,  but  she 
had  a  deft,  finished  way  of  settling  into  her  clothes 
that  scouted  the  least  suspicion  of  treacherous 
seams,  truant  hooks  or  buttons,  or  doubtful  strings. 

She  was  about  to  go  down  and  protest  against 
having  her  breakfast  sent  up  when  she  met  a  lit 
tle  procession  bearing  trays. 

"Mrs.  Ross,  this  is  too  much  for  the  money," 
she  said  gaily.  "I'm  not  ill." 

"That's  all  right,  Mrs.  Hammel.  You  just  set 
down  now  an'  be  comfortable.  Jenny,  lay  the  books 
on  the  bed — don't  spill  that  ink! — set  it  on  the 
shelf  by  the  clock.  Phoebe,  put  down  your  tray, 
an'  both  of  you  go  along  to  your  work.  I'll  wait 
on  Mrs.  Hammel."  And  she  bustled  the  two  gap 
ing  girls  out  of  the  room. 

[145] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Now,  Mrs.  Ross,"  Mrs.  Hammel  was  begin 
ning,  as  she  seated  herself  by  the  table.  Then  seeing 
the  suppressed  excitement  of  her  hostess,  she 
stopped,  and  grasped  her  hand,  saying: 

"What  is  it?  What  has  happened?  Tell  me 
at  once!" 

"Now,  dearie,  drink  your  coffee.  See,  it's  get- 
tin'  cold.  There  isn't  much  to  tell,  an'  it'll  keep 
till  you're  fit  to  hear  it.  Eat  your  breakfast,  or 
I'll  go  an'  leave  you."  And  with  a  sorry  feint  of 
playfulness  she  rose  from  her  chair. 

"Please  stay!  I'll  be  good."  And  the  worst 
thought  that  came  to  her  was  that  Jack  had  fooled 
her  about  going  to  Chicago,  and  had  got  into  some 
sort  of  mischief. 

This  thought  brought  in  its  train  the  remem 
brance  of  other  times  when  the  whole  Hammel  fam 
ily  had  been  at  their  wits'  end  in  trying  to  find 
means  for  the  control  of  their  one  black  sheep. 

These  thoughts  brought  a  frown  to  her  brows 
and  sharpened  her  appetite.  Mrs.  Ross  tried  to 
talk  of  the  election,  of  the  weather,  of  all  the  com 
monplace  affairs  of  her  world,  and  her  guest  was 
too  much  irritated  by  her  own  thoughts  to  see  what 
an  effort  was  being  made  for  her  entertainment;  to 
see  that  there  was  a  great  weight  on  the  mind  of 
her  hostess  that  in  due  time  would  be  transferred 
to  her  own. 

The  really  nice  breakfast  was  disappearing  when 
[146] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  thoughts  of  both  were  scattered  by  a  voice  in 
the  street : 

"Extra!  extra!"  was  called  in  a  loud,  boyish 
voice.  "Here's  your  extra !  All  about  the  Dever 
murder !  All  about  Mrs.  Dever !" 

"Oh,  good  heavens !"  And  Mrs.  Hammel  sprang 
from  her  chair  and  was  leaning  half  way  out  of  the 
window. 

"Come  away,  dearie!  Come  along  away!  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it.  I  was  just  going  to."  And 
Mrs.  Ross,  now  quite  hysterical,  pulled  at  Mrs. 
Hammel,  who  called  frantically  to  the  boy  with 
the  papers ;  and  to  the  sobbing  woman  who  clung  to 
her  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  leaping  totheground. 

There  was  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  both, 
thinking  that  the  boy,  who  had  disappeared,  was 
there,  ran  to  open  it. 

But  instead  of  meeting  a  newsboy,  Mrs.  Ham 
mel  was  folded  in  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Drayton,  while 
Lois  clung  to  her,  sobbing,  and  Mr.  Drayton,  look 
ing  stern  and  troubled,  followed  them  into  the  room 
and  closed  the  door. 

By  scraps  and  patches  the  story  was  told  of  Pol 
ly's  ghastly  discovery  that  morning.  She  and  her 
mistress  were  early  risers.  They  were  the  first  cus 
tomers  for  the  butcher  and  grocer,  the  baker,  the 
milk  and  iceman.  This  morning  Polly  was  up,  as 
usual,  attending  to  her  work,  but  her  mistress  did 
not  appear,  as  usual,  in  the  breakfast-room  after 

[147] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

one  tap  of  the  bell.  Polly  waited  a  minute,  she 
waited  "five  minutes  by  the  clock,"  then  tapped  the 
bell  again,  very  lightly.  Mrs.  Dever  had  trained 
her  to  ways  of  patience.  Another  five  minutes'  wait, 
and  then  Polly  went  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Dever's  room  was  still  darkened,  but  she 
never  had  it  light  excepting  on  sweeping  days,  and 
the  door  was  open.  Polly  rapped  on  the  panels, 
but  there  was  no  answer.  It  was  very  strange. 
Polly  could  see  her  mistress  was  still  in  bed. 

She  entered  the  room,  saying  softly:  "Mrs.  De 
ver,  didn't  you  hear  the  bell  ?  Are  you  sick?"  She 
went  close  to  the  bed. 

She  noticed  the  clothing  was  much  disturbed, 
a  part  of  it  hanging  over  the  side  on  the  floor.  Mrs. 
Dever's  head  was  so  sunken  amongst  the  pillows 
that  Polly  leaned  over  them  before  she  saw  the 
face.  Then,  oh,  horrors !  There  were  the  staring 
eyes,  the  protruding  tongue,  the  clenched  hands  of 
a  dead  woman — a  murdered  woman ! 

Polly  screamed  and  shrieked  until  her  voice  lost 
all  semblance  to  that  of  a  human.  The  neighbors 
for  several  blocks  around  rushed  into  the  streets, 
and  followed  the  sound  of  the  horrible  cries.  In 
this  quiet  little  city  of  homes  such  a  sound  on  the 
still  morning  air  was  carried  far. 

The  neglected  place  was  soon  overrun  by  all  sorts 
of  people.     The  house  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
horror  was  borne  out  into  the  newly-awakened 
world  by  the  clamor  of  a  thousand  tongues. 
[148] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"Is  OUR  civilization  a  failure?"  Is  it  anything 
more  than  an  open  confession  that  the  savagery  of 
the  human  has  been  reduced  to  system  ?  That  we 
know  that  the  brutal  instincts  are  only  dormant? 
That,  having  gorged  themselves  through  countless 
ages,  simply  through  weariness  or  caprice  they  hide 
themselves  under  silks  and  broadcloths  and  all  the 
curious  weaves  produced  by  the  toilers  of  the  loom  ? 

The  laws  answer,  "Yea,  verily!"  There  stand 
the  strong  houses,  there  are  the  countless  volumes 
that  govern  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  iron 
doors.  Everything  is  in  readiness  to  spring  the  trap. 
Men  stand  on  every  street  corner,  in  waiting  for 
the  man  or  the  woman  who  can  no  longer  control 
the  heritage  of  savagery.  Hosts  of  men  live  in 
their  own  interpretation  of  what  civilization  has 
grown  to  be,  live  on  the  fruits  of  these  outbreaks. 
They  live  by  the  misfortunes  of  those  who,  because 
of  the  workings  of  unknown  forces,  forces  of  which 
the  average  mind  has  no  conception,  fall  victims 
to — ah !  there  are  names  in  abundance. 

The  doctors  of  the  church  call  it  original  sin, 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  influence  of  the  spirit  of  evil,  the  lack  of  that 
grace  which  redeems  the  world. 

The  doctors  of  medicine  talk  of  heredity,  ata 
vism,  pre-natal  influence. 

The  doctors  of  the  laws  produce  direct  and  cir 
cumstantial  evidence,  and  with  a  multiplicity  of 
words  entrap  for  death  the  human  who  has  used  a 
more  direct  method  to  murder  his  victim. 

Such  a  wonderful  inventive  faculty  these  clothed 
savages  possess,  as  proven  by  their  language.  So 
many  words  of  differing  sound,  yet  all  meaning 
shameful  death. 

All  the  machinery  of  the  laws  of  civilization  was 
in  waiting  on  the  morning  that  the  murder  of  Mrs. 
Dever  was  discovered.  How  provident !  and  what 
a  confession ! 

The  makers  of  the  laws,  by  their  workmanship, 
admit  the  instability  of  their  own  position.  They 
openly  declare:  "I  have  thought  of  these  things; 
other  men  will  do  them ;  weaker  men  will  make  ac 
tion  of  my  thought." 

The  forms  were  all  ready;  they  had  been  re 
hearsed  thousands  of  times.  It  was  but  a  few  hours 
after  the  discovery  of  the  murder  until  the  place 
was  cleared  of  all  save  those  permitted  by  the  law 
to  remain.  The  grounds  were  guarded  by  officers, 
while  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  premises  was 
searched  for  evidence  of  the  victim  of  atavism. 

There  was,  necessarily,  much  coming  and  going, 

[150] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

until  all  the  forms  prescribed  for  this  and  like  trag 
edies  should  be  rehearsed;  till  all  formalities  laid 
down  in  anticipation  of  this  event  should  be  com 
plied  with. 

Mrs.  Hammel  was  at  last  in  the  home  of  her 
mother.  Her  friends  speculated  as  to  her  sensa 
tions,  but  to  all  outward  appearances  she  had  none. 

After  the  first  hour  or  two  of  unbelieving  grief, 
of  stormy  wailing  that  it  was  all  over,  that  the  gate 
was  forever  closed  between  herself  and  her  mother, 
she  had  been  calm  and  self-contained.  She  knew 
afterward  that  it  was  because  she  felt  that  she  had 
sounded  the  depths  of  wretchedness.  There  were 
no  words  to  express  her  feelings.  Tears  and  cries 
were  only  for  babies  when  they  were  hungry.  This 
horrible  thing  that  had  come  into  her  life  was  no 
least  kin  to  tears.  So  her  emotions  were  a  sealed 
volume. 

But  there  were  other  sensations  for  her.  She 
was  to  find  herself,  in  the  near  future,  capable  of 
an  entirely  new  assortment  of  emotions. 

She  had  answered  questions  put  to  her  by  men 
who  she  was  told  was  a  coroner's  jury.  Some  of 
these  questions  she  had  been  inclined  to  resent,  as 
much  too  personal,  and,  under  the  stress  of  the  time, 
exceedingly  heartless. 

But  Mrs.  Drayton  was  with  her  continually. 
Philip  Hale  came  to  advise  her.  He  was  most  kind 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

and  solicitous.  Lois  clung  to  her  and  wept  over 
her. 

In  the  course  of  these  formalities  Mrs.  Hammel 
had  been  shown  a  soiled  handkerchief  and  asked  if 
she  knew  it.  Her  answer  was :  "Yes,  I  know  it, 
as  who  would  not?  There  is  my  name  along  the 
hem." 

"Where  did  you  see  it  last?"  was  the  next  ques 
tion. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  and  she  was  inclined 
to  smile.  "From  its  appearance,  I  must  have  seen 
it  last  in  my  laundry-bag." 

Then,  very  curiously,  she  thought,  she  was  not 
allowed  to  take  possession  of  the  dingy  scrap  of 
linen.  A  bunch  of  keys  was  dangled  before  her 
eyes,  and  she  was  allowed  to  take  them  in  her  hands. 
She  was  asked  if  she  knew  anything  about  them. 
She  caught  her  breath,  and  she  felt  a  sudden  chill, 
but  answered  calmly: 

"Yes;  they  are  mine.  There  is  my  maiden  name 
engraved  on  the  ring  and  on  each  separate  key. 
Mr.  Fair,  here,  present  as  a  juror,  knows  them. 
He  made  the  whole  outfit  for  me  years  ago." 

"What  use  have  you  had  of  these  keys  within 
the  last  four  years — since  your  marriage?" 

"None  whatever." 

"Why  did  you  carry  them  with  you?" 

"I  did  not  carry  them  with  me.  I  left  them  in 
Chicago." 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"How  is  it  that  you  were  in  possession  of  the 
keys,  since  you  had  no  use  for  them?" 

"When  I  went  away,  over  four  years  ago,  I  car 
ried  the  keys  with  me,  in  my  purse,  because  that 
was  the  way  I  usually  carried  them." 

"And  no  doubt  you  supposed  at  that  time  you 
might  again  have  use  for  them  in  entering  your 
mother's  house?" 

"Very  naturally,  if  I  thought  of  them  at  all." 

"You  say  you  left  them  in  Chicago.  How  long 
since?" 

"I've  been  here  all  summer.  I  left  Chicago  on 
the  twentieth  of  May." 

"You  say  you  left  these  keys  in  Chicago.  You 
have  not  been  there  since  the  twentieth  of  May. 
Did  you  send  for  the  keys?" 

"I  did  not." 

"Can  you  explain  in  any  way  how  they  came  here 
— to  be  found,  where  they  had  fallen,  or  been 
thrown,  or  dropped,  on  the  floor  of  the  hall  near 
the  street  door  of  this,  your  mother's  house?" 

Mrs.  Hammel's  face  grew  white  as  the  band  of 
linen  that  encircled  her  neck.  In  an  instant  came 
a  revelation  too  horrible  to  be  given  credence.  Her 
hesitation,  her  pallor,  were  noted.  When  she  an 
swered,  in  a  lower  tone  than  she  had  before  spoken 
in,  "No,  I  cannot,"  there  was  a  sigh,  a  movement 
amongst  the  jurors  that  might  have  meant  compas 
sion,  disbelief,  wonder,  horror. 

[153] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

What  followed,  Mrs.  Hammel  never  quite  clear 
ly  understood  or  remembered.  If  it  was  two  hours, 
two  days,  or  two  weeks,  she  could  not  have  said 
positively,  from  the  time  she  was  questioned  about 
the  keys  until  she  was  told  that  she  was  under  in 
dictment  for  the  murder  of  her  mother. 

"But,"  she  remonstrated,  "how  can  anyone  be 
lieve  that  I  did  it?  Why,  it  is  simply  monstrous 
that  anyone  could  have  killed  her,  but  that  I  did 
it — is  too  horrible  to  think  of!" 

In  these  first  moments  she  felt  like  a  wild  wom 
an.  She  was  possessed  of  an  impulse  to  tear  and 
rend  everything  she  touched;  but,  counselled  by 
those  who  had  stood  by  her  through  all  the  dread 
ful  days,  when  she  realized  the  awful  shadow  that 
was  falling  over  her  while  she  suspected  nothing, 
she  controlled  herself.  When  she  was  led  away 
to  the  county  jail,  there  to  await  her  trial,  she  went 
calmly. 

When  Mr.  Drayton  and  Lois  came  to  her  cell 
to  tell  her  that  all  efforts  to  have  her  released  on 
bail  were  fruitless,  though  a  million  dollars  would 
have  been  pledged,  if  required,  she  answered : 

"Never  mind ;  don't  worry  about  it.  I  believe  1 
would  rather  be  here  than  to  be  out  and  be  a  show 
for  the  curious.  Don't  grieve,  dear,"  as  Lois  threw 
herself,  weeping,  on  the  bosom  of  her  friend.  "It's 
all  a  horrible  mistake.  I'll  be  free  as  soon  as  I  go 
[154] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

through  the  formality  of  a  trial — I'm  sure  I  will, 
though  I  don't  see  exactly  how." 

Mr.  Drayton  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her. 

"Keep  up  your  courage,  Nan,  dear.  You  have 
strong  friends,  who  will  stand  by  you.  I  think,  too 
— think! — I  know  it's  all  a  horrible  mistake!" 
But  as  he  and  Lois  went  sadly  homeward,  he  said, 
more  to  himself  than  to  her: 

"If  there  is  a  God  above  us,  what  can  He  be 
about,  to  permit  such  blundering,  such  injustice? 
I  don't  see  how  ever  mother  will  bear  it!" 

"And  only  to  think  of  Dan,  papa  !  He  must  do 
all  he  can  against  Nan !  Oh,  it  is  heart-breaking ! 
And  Frances  is  so  openly,  so  absurdly  jealous  and 
unreasonable!  Poor  Dan!" 


[155] 


CHAPTER  XX 

POOR  Dan,  indeed!  If  his  crudest  enemy  had 
sought  to  devise  a  torture  for  him,  he  never  could 
have  invented  this  situation.  His  visits  to  his  fath 
er's  house  during  the  weeks  that  intervened  between 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Dever  and  the  trial  of  Mrs. 
Hammel  were  probably  amongst  the  hardest  things 
he  had  to  bear.  Not  that  there  were  words  of  re 
proach — the  matter  was  studiously  avoided.  But 
he  could  see  the  sadness  in  his  mother's  eyes,  the 
growing  thinness  of  her  cheek,  and  he  felt  the 
tremor  of  her  hands  when  she  touched  him. 

His  father  showed  his  disapproval  in  a  different 
way.  Dan  felt  that  his  eyes  were  continually  cen 
suring  him,  continually  following  him,  pitilessly  ac 
cusing  him  of  grieving  them  all  wilfully,  of  sin 
ning  knowingly.  His  manner  never  relaxed.  He 
never  greeted  Dan  or  his  wife  with  a  smile.  Dan 
felt  that  if  he  was  only  given  opportunity  to  talk 
he  might,  in  a  measure,  justify  his  position;  but 
the  time  for  talk  had  gone  by  the  day  he  accepted 
the  nomination  for  the  office  which  he  now  held. 

Paul,  as  often  as  he  could,  avoided  Dan  and 
Frances  entirely.  He  managed  to  be  late  for  Sun- 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

day  dinner,  then  sat  alone  and  long,  waited  upon 
by  Cleo  and  Zeke,  while  Bett  was  away,  in  her 
finery,  for  her  Sunday  outing.  Lois,  too,  avoided 
Dan  and  Frances  whenever  it  was  possible.  She 
and  Dan  never  exchanged  a  word  in  regard  to 
the  murder  or  the  unfortunate  prisoner,  but  sev 
eral  times  Frances  forced  the  matter  upon  her  sis 
ter-in-law,  until  the  small  stock  of  patience  pos 
sessed  by  Lois  was  exhausted,  and  she  said  sharply 
that  the  subject  must  be  dropped,  or  mentioned  in 
a  different  spirit. 

"Dear  me!"  Frances  retorted.  "I  suppose  one 
mustn't  express  an  opinion  of  a  criminal  if  that 
low  person  happens  to  be  your  friend.  I  see  now 
how  wise  I  was  to  refuse  to  accept  the  Drayton 
associates  for  my  own." 

Then  Lois,  nagged  beyond  peaceable  endurance, 
flashed  out:  "I  only  regret  that  you  ever  came 
into  contact  with  either  the  Draytons  or  their  asso 
ciates.  It's  your  influence  that  has  placed  Dan  in 
this  intolerable  situation,  and  furnished  a  subject 
of  gossip  for  everybody  in  the  county!" 

After  this,  the  intercourse  between  the  two  young 
women  was  of  the  most  formal  character.  The  gos 
sip  that  Lois  had  hinted  of  was  more  than  she  could 
have  guessed,  and  Frances  had  heard  enough  of  it 
to  keep  her  continually  on  the  alert  to  hear  more, 
or  to  know  the  truth  or  falsity  of  it,  though  it  mad 
dened  her.  She  had  the  faculty  of  overhearing 

[157] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

what  women  and  men  in  her  own  circle  said,  and 
she  had  itching  ears  to  hear  what  other  servant  girls 
said  to  her  own. 

For  every  scrap  she  heard,  for  every  comparison 
drawn  between  herself  and  Mrs.  Hammel,  who, 
people  would  insist,  had  been  Dan  Drayton's  first 
love,  Frances,  in  some  way  of  her  own,  held  her 
husband  responsible.  The  trend  of  all  the  gossip 
was  to  establish  Dan  as  a  disappointed,  sometimes 
a  really  jilted  lover,  and  the  husband  of  a  jealous 
wife  immeasurably  the  inferior  of  the  old  love. 

If  there  were  any  doubts  expressed  as  to  the  out 
come  of  the  trial  because  of  a  lingering  fondness  of 
the  prosecutor  for  the  accused,  these  doubts  were 
laughed  at. 

One  evening  Frances  overheard  two  women,  sep 
arated  from  herself  by  a  portiere,  going  over  the 
history  of  the  affair. 

These  women  were  well  acquainted  with  all  the 
persons  of  whom  they  talked  so  glibly. 

One  said  she  was  quite  sure  that  Dan  would  al 
low  the  case  of  the  State  to  fail.  He  would  never 
permit  Nan  Dever  to  be  convicted. 

The  other  answered:  "Don't  you  believe  that 
for  a  minute!  Dan  Drayton's  between  the  devil 
and  the  deep  sea.  He'll  find  it's  much  easier  to 
convict  Nan,  even  if  he  die  of  grief,  than  to  live 
with  that  jealous  fury  of  his  after  a  failure." 
"Do  you  really  think  so?" 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes,  I  do  think  so.  There's  nothing  in  the  world 
as  mean  as  a  jealous  person — nothing  so  unbear 
ably  persistent  and  suspicious.  Nothing  but  jeal 
ousy  so  completely  brings  to  the  surface  all  the  bru 
tality  of  an  inferior  nature.  In  fact,  no  one  but 
an  inferior  person  ever  feels  this  passion  that  goes 
by  the  name  of  jealousy,  and  Frances  Drayton  is 
a  very  inferior  woman.  She's  entirely  out  of  her 
element  amongst  her  husband's  people.  She's  con 
tinually  watching  them,  to  see  that  they  take  no 
advantage  of  her.  Of  course,  her  husband  is  first 
on  the  list  of  such  suspects.  Such  a  pity  that  so 
good  a  man  as  Dan  is  should  have  made  such  a 
marriage!" 

There  was  silence,  and  the  two  moved  away, 
while  Frances,  alone  on  her  side  of  the  curtain, 
writhed  under  the  sting  of  their  words.  She  had 
been  most  unfortunate  in  hearing  herself  talked 
about  since  she  came  to  Stillwater,  and  she  often 
wondered  if  other  women  had  this  experience  after 
making  what  was  understood  as  a  good  marriage. 
She  had,  within  the  last  few  months,  as  Paul  ex 
pressed  it,  "applauded  herself,  and  thrown  bouquets 
to  herself,"  as  the  power  behind  the  throne  of  Dan's 
ambition.  She  even  acknowledged  to  herself  that 
she  would  have  influenced  him  to  try  for  the  State 
Legislature,  instead  of  the  office  of  prosecutor,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  desire  to  oppose  his  family.  She 
[159] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

wanted  to  feel  beyond  a  doubt  that  she  could  con 
trol  him  against  "all  the  Draytons." 

Of  this  she  was  now  assured,  and  after  the  shock 
ing  death  of  Mrs.  Dever,  and  what  followed,  Fran 
ces  felt  that  fate  had  given  more  into  her  hands 
than  she  would  have  dared  to  ask.  And  yet,  it  was 
not  she,  but  her  rival,  who  had  tempted  fate. 

Why  should  Mrs.  Hammel  have  come  to  Still- 
water  after  a  four  years'  absence,  and  so  soon  after 
she  herself  had  come,  if  not  to  spy  upon  the  wife 
of  her  old  lover? 

After  seeing  Mrs.  Hammel,  unwilling  though 
she  was,  yet  she  did  confess  to  herself  that  if  Dan, 
or  any  other  man,  had  loved  her,  it  was  not  in  the 
least  surprising.  It  is  only  the  natural  trend  of 
men  to  love  beauty,  grace,  and  vivacity  in  women ; 
and  here  was  one  of  the  most  attractive  women  that 
Stillwater,  or  the  world,  had  ever  produced. 

Truly,  Frances  wished  for  something  to  happen 
that  would  take  Mrs.  Hammel  out  of  her  imme 
diate  neighborhood.  As  she  was  told  numbers  of 
times  that  Mrs.  Dever  would  not  allow  her  daugh 
ter  to  enter  her  house,  she  felt  sure  that  if  this  was 
her  errand  to  Stillwater  she  would  presently  go 
away.  That  she  did  not  go,  had  been  the  cause  of 
many  quarrels  between  Dan  and  Frances ;  and  now, 
if  he  showed  the  least  thoughtfulness,  if  he  sat  si 
lent,  and  could  be  seen  to  be  neither  reading  nor 
[160] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

asleep,  there  was' sure  to  be  some  rasping  reminder 
of  the  work  he  had  to  do  in  the  near  future. 

One  evening,  after  an  attack  of  this  kind,  Dan 
left  the  house.  He  said  he  had  a  trifle  of  work  to 
do  at  his  office,  and  would  perhaps  meet  Hale. 

It  was  not  wholly  a  lie.  There  was  work  at  the 
office.  If  he  had  gone  there,  or  to  his  old  office,  he 
would  have  met  Hale.  Like  many  unmarried  men 
in  country  towns,  Hale  used  his  office  as  a  club — 
a  place  for  meeting  other  men  situated  as  he  was. 

But  Dan  had  no  intention  of  going  to  anyone's 
office.  He  sauntered  along  the  streets,  thinking, 
only  thinking,  his  head  bent  forward,  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  his  collar  turned  up  over  his  ears.  Per 
sons  he  met  who  recognized  him  called  out  a  cheery 
"Hello,  Dan!"  stopping  for  nothing  more.  He 
felt  in  the  very  air  that  no  man  in  Stillwater  envied 
him,  nor  coveted  the  task  he  had  before  him  as  dis 
trict  attorney.  As  often  as  he  recognized  this  fact 
he  set  his  teeth  and  muttered,  with  an  oath:  "And 
they  don't  know  the  half  of  it." 

This  evening,  through  force  of  habit,  through 
loneliness,  and  craving  for  sympathetic  companion 
ship,  he  wandered  slowly  to  his  brother's  gate.  He 
passed  by  a  walk  to  a  side  door.  He  tried  the  latch, 
and  the  door  opened  directly  into  the  pretty,  cozy, 
family  room.  Laura  was  at  the  piano,  drumming 
out  a  little  plaintive  Spanish  song  without  words, 
[161] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

while  Basil,  by  the  shaded  lamp,  -cut  the  leaves  of 
a  new  magazine. 

The  fresh  breeze  let  into  the  room  startled  both, 
and  both  came  to  welcome  the  caller. 

"This  is  nice  of  you,  Dan,  to  give  us  a  little  sur 
prise,"  Laura  said,  pulling  at  his  sleeve.  "But  why 
didn't  you  bring  Frances?" 

"I've  left  Frances  with  her  own  sweet  thoughts. 
I  begin  to  see  why  Lucifer  was  thrown  out  of 
heaven.  It  was  a  case  of  jealousy;  and  I'll  be  ever 
lastingly  damned — excuse  me,  Laura — if  I  can  see 
why  the  feeling,  the  passion,  the  'what  is  iff  was 
not  stamped  out  then  and  there.  It  looks  to  me 
like  a  confession  of  weakness  on  the  part  of  the 
Administration." 

"Now,  Dan,  hold  on  a  minute!"  Basil  said 
laughingly.  "What's  all  this  about?  What  cause 
has  Frances  for  jealousy?" 

"About  the  same,  I  think,  that  Laura  has.  I 
guess  you  used  to  know  Anna  Dever,  and  lots  of 
other  girls,  long  ago." 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  Nan  was  very  deservedly  popu 
lar  ;  but  I  never  knew  that  there  was  the  least  hint 
of  a  love  affair  between  her  and  any  of  the  boys 
but  just  Hammel." 

"Neither  did  I,  and  it's  precious  little  anybody 

knew  of  that  till  they  were  married.     But  Frances 

has  the  idea  that  I  was  jilted,  and  now  she  seems 

to  think  that  I  ought  to  be  throwing  up  my  hat  and 

[162] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

jumping  Jim  Crow,  and  rejoicing,  because  of  the 
position  I  occupy  in  relation  to  Nan.  I  tell  you,  if 
I  become  a  mysterious  disappearance  between  two 
days,  some  time  before  the  date  of  Nan's  trial,  I 
want  somebody  to  know  the  true  inwardness  of  it." 

Basil  laughed  silently.  "You  talk  as  if  you  meant 
to  take  the  situation  seriously." 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life.  I'm  sure 
that  mother  and  the  folks  would  rather  know  that 
I'd  run  away,  deserted  everything,  than  to  have  me 
put  this  case  through ;  because  there's  but  one'  pos 
sible  end  for  it." 

"Why,  Dan!"  Laura  said.  "Is  the  evidence  so 
strong  against  Anna?" 

"Very  strong;  and  the  motive  is  there,  as  every 
body  knows." 

"Can't  you  turn  over  nearly  the  whole  matter  to 
an  assistant?" 

"No,  I  can't — not  at  this  stage  of  my  incum 
bency.  I've  got  to  be  there  and  boss  the  job." 

"Yes,  of  course.    Will  Hale  help  you?" 

"No.  He  declines  absolutely,  sticking  to  the 
spirit  of  our  partnership  and  to  the  letter  of  the 
dissolution.  I  thought  all  the  formalities  were  but 
small  preliminaries  to  our  work  straight  through  in 
double  harness,  and  he  would  almost  become  my 
deputy,  especially  in  a  case  like  this.  But  he  de 
clines  the  offer  with  thanks." 

"That's  rather  remarkable  behavior  for  a  fellow 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

beginning  life  in  the  law.  Does  he  give  his  rea 
sons?" 

Dan  laughed,  then  frowned,  and  kicked  a  has 
sock  across  the  room. 

"Oh,  yes.  His  reasons  are  wrapped  around  Lois's 
little  finger.  It's  another  example  of  petticoat  gov 
ernment." 

Basil  laughed,  and  glanced  at  Laura. 

"We've  all  been  there,"  he  said.  "Let  Lois  have 
her  day." 

"It's  a  trifle  more  than  that.  It's  this  way,  so 
Hale  told  me:  When  he  was  having  his  little  talk 
with  the  folks,  of  course  he  gave  a  sketch  of  him 
self  and  his  forbears.  It  turns  out  that  he's  the 
youngest  son  of  ex-Governor  Hale,  the  man  whose 
decision  in  the  case  of  the  woman,  whatever  her 
name  was,  so  affected  mother  and  Paul." 

"/5  that  so?"  and  Basil  leaned  forward  in  his 
chair.  "Now  it's  a  wonder  to  me  that  that  discov 
ery  hadn't  nipped  the  whole  business." 

"No,  it  hasn't;  but  Hale  says  that  this  has  given 
him  a  new  view  of  the  idea  of  legal  murder,  and 
he'll  take  no  hand  in  it.  In  fact,  he  told  me  that 
he  had  been  approached  in  regard  to  assisting  in 
the  defence." 

"That  would  be  a  fine  card  to  play  for  the  favor 
of  the  family." 

"Yes;  and  that's  another  of  the  trifling  matters 
that  are  driving  me  crazy.  If  ever  any  living  man 
[164] 


IN    THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

found  himself  in  half  as  big  a  combination  of  things 
that  are  most  damned  disagreeable,  I'd  like  to  in 
terview  him,  and  find  out  how  he  ever  got  through 
alive." 


[165] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IF  the  words  of  "Joan  Stone,"  newspaper  cor 
respondent,  were  true,  then  being  imprisoned,  arid 
under  indictment  for  murder,  was  not  a  really  de 
plorable  situation. 

In  the  beginning  of  her  trouble,  Mrs.  Hammel 
had  at  once  notified  her  employers  and  resigned 
her  position  on  the  several  papers.  These  resigna 
tions  were,  as  promptly  as  might  be,  thrown  into  the 
waste,  and  instead  of  polite  notes  of  acceptance  be 
ing  sent  in  answer,  there  were  urgent  appeals  to 
go  on  with  the  work,  and  write  of  the  world  as  she 
found  it  from  this  new  point  of  view. 

This,  at  first  glance,  struck  the  prisoner  as  in 
considerate,  but  she  thought  it  over,  talked  it  over 
with  Hale,  and  Dawson  &  Fiske,  the  firm  which 
was  to  take  charge  of  her  case,  and  she  wrote 
"From  my  cell"  the  sensations  of  an  innocent  wom 
an  caught  in  the  net  of  circumstances  and  the  law. 
These  letters  passed  through  the  hands  of  her  coun 
sel  before  being  mailed. 

She  had  many  solicitations  from  other  publishers. 
These  would  be  glad  of  anything  she  would  favor 
[166] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

them  with.  Many  of  these  offers  came  from  flashy, 
sensational  periodicals,  and  received  no  answers; 
but  to  others  were  sent  essays,  stories,  book  reviews 
— anything,  everything  that  entered  the  prisoner's 
mind.  It  seemed  that  every  thought  that  came  to 
her  was  utilized  in  some  form  for  publication. 
There  was  no  privacy  for  the  mentality  of  the 
woman  locked  up  in  the  Stillwater  jail  for  the  mur 
der  of  her  mother. 

"Now,  really,"  she  said  to  Hale  one  day,  as  she 
handed  him  a  parcel  of  checks,  "this  begins  to  look 
like  prosperity  in  adversity.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
more  emphatic  case  of  the  meetings  of  extremes? 
I'll  make  my  expenses,  even  if  the  county  brings 
in  a  bill  for  my  board." 

The  lawyer  laughed;  and  as  he  deposited  the 
checks  to  the  credit  of  Anna  Dever  Hammel  he 
wondered  if  her  worthless  husband  was  sole  heir, 
and  if  he  would  come  into  possession  of  this  money, 
and  the  Dever  estate  as  well,  since  there  had  been 
no  will  found. 

Hale  knew,  and  he  wondered  if  Mrs.  Hammel 
had  any  idea  of  the  weight  of  the  evidence  that 
was  accumulating  against  her.  If  she  guessed  she 
gave  no  sign.  She  sat,  day  after  day,  working,  cov 
ering  page  after  page  of  copy  paper,  then,  for  re 
laxation,  reading  the  new  books  and  magazines  and 
newspapers  that  came  to  her  by  every  mail. 

As  time  went  on,  and  the  preparations  for  the 
[167] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

trial  were  completed,  Dan  Drayton  grew  calmer, 
cooler ;  and  though  at  times  the  horror  of  the  situa 
tion  overwhelmed  him,  yet  he  said  to  himself,  and 
even  to  Basil,  that  the  evidence  was  of  such  a  char 
acter  there  need  be  but  little  said  by  the  prosecutor. 
The  defence  must  do  the  work.  This  work  would 
necessarily  be  to  prove  an  alibi,  or  the  production 
of  some  other  person  to  take  the  place  of  the  pris 
oner.  Any  jury  of  sane  men  would  convict  on  the 
evidence  of  the  State  unless  the  rebuttal  was  ex 
ceedingly,  conclusively  strong. 

That  there  was  any  real  truth  against  Mrs. 
Hammel  in  the  evidence  Dan  did  not  for  one  mo 
ment  believe.  This  was  the  enigma.  In  spite  of  the 
evidence  and  the  motive  he  could  not  make  himself 
see  Nan  Dever  breaking  into  her  mother's  house 
and  then  strangling  her  with  one  of  her  own  silk 
shawls.  "But,"  he  said  to  Basil,  "what's  a  man 
to  do?  Everything  looks  as  if  she  did  do  it,  and 
there's  no  telling.  Women  are  great  riddles.  I 
confess  I  don't  understand  any  of  them." 

Basil,  watching  his  brother,  also  made  a  confes 
sion,  mentally,  to  the  effect  that  Dan  was  something 
of  a  riddle,  too. 

But  the  answer  was  that  he  had  slipped  from 
his  own  proper  orbit,  and  was  likely  to  prove,  ac 
cording  to  his  strength  of  character, 


[168] 


IN  THE  FIRST  DEGREE 

"A  wandering  mass  of  shapeless  flame, 
A  pathless  comet,  and  a  curse," 

not  only  to  himself,  but  to  all  who  knew  him  best 
and  loved  him  most  unselfishly;  or  he  would  come 
through  the  ordeal  purified,  and  a  stronger,  better 
man. 

The  trial  was  set  for  the  second  week  in  Decem 
ber.  It  would  not  require  many  days.  It  had  been 
wondered  if  the  prisoner  would  report  her  trial  for 
her  publishers.  A  morning  or  two  after  the  jury 
had  been  secured  answered  the  query. 

"Joan  Stone's"  two-column  letter  looked  out 
cheerily  from  the  first  page  of  the  city  paper  that 
came  on  an  early  train  from  Chicago,  and  a  daily 
that  arrived  from  the  East  in  the  evening  had  an 
other. 

People  stared  and  wondered,  and  none  wondered 
quite  so  much  as  some  of  the  members  of  the  "La 
dies'  Own"  and  the  "Daughters  of  Endeavor." 
This  writing  columns  and  columns  without  the  aid 
of  an  encyclopedia  was  hard  to  understand. 

"But,"  said  the  elegant  Mrs.  Mason,  "anyone 
who  can  do  murder  ought  to  be  able  to  do  some 
thing  else." 

To  her  mind,  anyone  who  could  set  aside  the 
thirty-nine  articles,  and  refuse  to  accept  tradition 
for  religion,  was  capable  of  all  degrees  of  deprav 
ity. 

[169] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

The  case  of  the  State  against  Anna  Dever  Ham- 
mel  was  supported  by  the  fact  of  the  prisoner  hav 
ing  been  seen  in  the  grounds  surrounding  the  house 
of  the  murdered  woman  on  several  successive  days 
preceding  the  murder.  This,  in  view  of  the  other 
fact  that  was  well  known  in  the  town,  that  Mrs. 
Dever  would  not  permit  her  daughter  to  enter  the 
house,  took  on  the  semblance  of  prowling,  of  lying 
in  wait.  Even  if  the  prisoner  denied  being  in  the 
grounds,  which  she  did  not,  there  was  the  hand 
kerchief,  marked  with  her  own  name,  which  she 
had  unhesitatingly  identified  as  her  own,  and  which 
had  been  picked  up  from  amongst  a  tangled  mass 
of  shrubbery. 

Polly  Warner  was  placed  in  the  witness-chair — 
weeping,  heart-broken,  homeless  Polly.  She  told 
the  story  of  the  years  she  had  lived  with  Mrs. 
Dever,  of  her  many  kindnesses,  of  her  eccentrici 
ties,  her  headstrong  temper.  She  told,  too,  of  her 
meetings  with  Miss  Nan,  of  their  talks  there  in 
the  grounds,  of  their  tears;  but  as  she  most  solemnly 
testified,  "not  one  single  cross  word  about  her  moth 
er,  not  one!" 

Mrs.  Ross  was  asked  to  tell  all  she  knew  of  the 
whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Hammel  on  the  night  of  the 
murder.  She  could  only  say  that  she  saw  her  on 
her  way  to  her  room  before  twelve  o'clock,  that 
she  heard  the  door  open  and  close,  and  then  all  was 
quiet;  at  least  she  heard  no  movement;  and  she  had 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

been  in  bed  an  hour  or  more,  when,  hearing  Mrs. 
Hammel  going  about  the  room,  she  went  upstairs. 
There  was  no  light  but  that  of  the  moon  shining 
in  through  the  window,  but  she  could  see  that  Mrs. 
Hammel  was  fully  dressed. 

The  night  clerk  of  the  house,  whose  business  it 
was  to  see  that  the  omnibus  went  to  meet  the  three 
o'clock  train,  said  that  sometime  about  two  o'clock 
someone  in  a  long  gray  coat  had  passed  through 
the  hall  and  upstairs.  The  light  was  dim  in  the 
hall,  and  he  was  half  asleep  in  his  chair  at  the 
further  side  of  the  office,  fully  fifteen  feet  from  the 
door  into  the  hall. 

He  wouldn't  say  whether  'twas  a  man  or  a  wom 
an.  At  the  time  he  just  supposed  it  was  someone 
belonging  in  the  house  who  had  been  out  waiting 
for  the  returns  of  the  election. 

No,  he  didn't  see  anyone  come  down  the  stairs. 
Within  a  few  minutes  after  seeing  the  person  go 
up  he  went  out  to  see  if  the  omnibus  was  ready, 
and  the  boys  were  up  to  meet  the  train. 

There  was  not  much  question  about  the  gray  coat 
or  cloak. 

Mrs.  Hammel  had  a  well-known  mackintosh  that 
answered  the  description.  When  this  was  shown  in 
court,  even  when  she  was  asked  to  put  it  on,  and, 
with  the  collar  turned  up,  and  a  woman's  derby  hat 
pulled  down  over  her  hair,  she  went  through  the 
ordeal  without  a  change  of  color.  Thus  equipped, 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

her  tall,  slender  figure,  seen  in  a  dim  light,  might 
very  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  man  or  a  tall  boy. 

It  was  when  the  keys  were  shown — the  door- 
keys  that  had  been  picked  up  in  the  hall,  and  that 
were  undeniably  her  own — that  a  blue  pallor  over 
spread  her  face,  and  this  was  noted  by  the  jury. 
The  prisoner,  visibly  unnerved,  glanced  toward  the 
twelve  men,  and  met  the  eyes  of  all  fixed  upon  her 
face. 

Her  counsel  saw  it,  and  had  a  sickening  realiza 
tion  that  this  was  evidence  only  to  be  weakened  by 
establishing  the  fact  of  the  possession  of  these  keys 
by  some  other  person. 

The  work  of  the  prosecution  was  easy.  The  evi 
dence  was  ready-made.  But  not  one  in  that  crowd 
ed  court-room  who  knew  Dan  Drayton  but  felt  com 
passion  for  him.  He  was  white  to  his  lips,  and  a 
constant  frown  rested  over  his  eyes.  It  was  when 
the  witnesses  for  the  defence  were  called  that  he 
might  have  prayed  for  the  walls  of  the  court-room 
to  fall  upon  and  hide  him.  These  witnesses  to 
prove  how  Mrs.  Hammel  had  spent  the  first  part 
of  the  night,  and  to  tell  of  the  fright  in  front  of 
Mrs.  Dever's  house,  were  Dan's  brothers,  his  sis 
ter,  and  his  brother's  wife.  And  while  these  were 
testifying,  trying  to  shield  their  friend  from  the 
working  of  the  law  in  his  hands,  there  in  the  bal 
cony  sat  Frances,  stony-eyed,  pitiless,  sneering. 

Lastly,  the  prisoner  was  placed  on  the  witness- 
[  172] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

stand.  A  murmur  of  admiration  swept  over  the 
room  like  a  breeze  through  a  forest  of  cedar.  She 
told  her  story  in  answer  to  the  questions  of  her  coun 
sel,  and  then  came  the  cross-examination  by  the 
prosecutor.  This,  Dan  would  most  gladly  have  del 
egated  to  his  young,  unfledged  assistant,  but  the 
eyes  of  his  wife  were  upon  him. 

A  worse  man  than  Dan  Drayton,  one  who  had 
had  a  less  honest  home  training,  or  one  with  a  strain 
of  what  Cleo  called  "po'  white  trash"  in  his  make 
up,  would  have  hoodwinked  Frances ;  but  Dan  had 
never  learned  the  use  of  subterfuge  in  home  life. 
If  he  had  a  thing  to  do,  he  did  it  "on  the  square." 

A  man  no  better,  but  stronger  to  resist  women, 
would  at  once  have  given  Madam  Frances  a  lesson 
or  two  which  would  have  left  him  free  to  follow 
the  course  marked  out  for  him,  by  right  of  his  crea 
tion,  and  by  the  trend  of  all  the  years  of  his  life 
before  he  had  met  her. 

But  if  many  people  in  the  world  had  happened 
to  be  other  than  what  they  are  many  a  tragedy 
would  have  been  averted,  many  a  story  untold. 

The  prosecutor  faced  the  prisoner,  and  above 
them  waved  the  plumes  and  fluttered  the  fan  of  the 
prosecutor's  wife.  At  home,  Frances  had  talked 
about  the  keys.  The  keys  were  the  strong  evidence. 
Even  though  it  had  been  demonstrated  by  the  ex 
amination  of  a  mechanic  that  the  chain  that  guarded 
Mrs.  Dever's  front  door  had  been  removed  by  a 

[  173] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

wrench  that  surely  required  more  strength  than  the 
average  woman  possessed,  still  the  keys  were  insist 
ed  upon  by  the  lawyers  and  audience,  friend  and 
enemy.  If  the  keys  had  not  first  been  used,  the 
door  could  not  have  been  forced  against  the  chain 
so  as  to  pull  out  the  staple. 

The  history  of  the  keys  was  given  by  the  pris 
oner  as  she  had  given  it  to  the  coroner's  jury.  That, 
and  no  more.  She  did  not  know  how  the  keys  came 
to  be  in  Stillwater,  and  much  less  could  she  say 
as  to  how  they  came  to  be  in  her  mother's  house. 
She  was  positive  that  she  had  last  seen  them  in  a 
box  of  her  own  in  the  store-room  of  her  mother- 
in-law  in  Chicago.  Then  the  prosecutor  asked: 

"Did  any  other  person  than  yourself  have  access 
to  this  box?" 

"Any  person  about  the  house  might  have  had 
access  to  it.  The  box  was  never  locked,  neither 
was  the  door  of  the  room." 

"Do  you  know  that  any  person  had  access  to  this 
box?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  answer,  clear  and  firm. 

"Who  was  this  person?" 

"My  husband's  sister,  Beatrice  Hammel." 

"Why  was  this — young  woman  permitted  to — 
open  this  box,  where  it  appears  you  stored — some 
things  that  were  valuable  ?" 

"I  sent  her,  once,  to  find  a  parcel  of  scraps — of 
neckties,  to  add  to  her  crazy  patchwork.  These 

[174] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

were  not  so  very  valuable,  and,"  with  the  least  per 
ceptible  twinkle  in  her  eyes,  "I  had  collected  them 
in  Stillwater." 

A  wave  of  color  swept  over  the  attorney's  face, 
and  a  titter  ran  around  the  room. 

"Did  Miss  Hammel  know  of  these  keys?" 

"I've  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  did." 

"Did  anyone — your  husband,  for  instance — 
know  of  these  keys  ?" 

The  color  faded  from  the  face  of  the  prisoner, 
and  the  prosecutor  knew  that  the  playful  thrust  of 
a  moment  before  was  paid  off.  There  was  hesita 
tion  while  one  might  have  counted  five,  slowly, 
then: 

"Yes;  my  husband  knew  of  the  keys.  He  saw 
them  several  times  soon  after  we  were  married." 

"That's  all,  Mrs.  Hammel."  And  she  left  the 
chair,  feeling  that  in  some  way  the  net  of  circum 
stances  was  closing  fast  about  her. 

Her  next  letter  for  the  press  told  how  an  inno 
cent  woman  feels  when  the  evidence  is  all  in  and 
she  goes  back  to  her  cell,  with  the  prospect  of  listen 
ing  to  the  pleas  of  the  lawyers  of  both  sides  next 
day- 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"On,  mother!  mother!  They're  going  to  kill 
Nan !"  And  Paul  Drayton  threw  himself  into  his 
mother's  arms  when  she  opened  the  door  for  him 
that  dark,  rainy  December  afternoon.  He  clung 
to  her,  shivering  and  moaning.  Mrs.  Drayton  al 
ready  knew  the  verdict.  She  had  sat  with  Mrs. 
Hammel  some  part  of  each  day  of  the  trial.  She 
sat  by  her  during  the  prosecutor's  summing  up  of 
the  case,  and  held  her  hand.  She  had  pitted  the 
influence  of  her  presence  against  the  eloquence  of 
her  son.  This  summing  up  was  a  surprise  to  every 
body,  and  to  no  one  more  than  to  the  prosecutor 
himself.  He  had  meant  it  to  be  the  merest  for 
mality,  an  almost  neutral,  colorless  statement.  But 
all  eyes  were  upon  him;  one  pair  were  scornful, 
searching,  sneering.  His  party  enemies  were  there 
to  see  him  swayed  by  his  mother's  friendship,  and 
perhaps  old  memories.  The  desire  to  be  just  was 
warped.  The  instinct  of  the  hunter  awakened.  The 
thirst  for  triumph  was  aroused.  The  desire  to 
startle,  to  dazzle,  to  confound,  took  possession  of 
him.  The  plain  facts  of  the  case — the  motive,  the 
[176] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

evidence — were  set  in  array,  with  all  the  rhetoric, 
all  the  logic  of  which  he  was  capable.  He  spoke 
for  less  than  an  hour,  but  the  fate  of  the  prisoner 
was  sealed. 

The  efforts  of  her  counsel  were  eloquent,  were 
reasonable,  but  well  nigh  useless.  The  pleas  were 
listened  to,  that  was  all.  It  could  not  be  said  that 
the  prisoner  had  been  denied  any  legal  right. 

The  charge  of  the  judge,  a  white-haired  man, 
who  had  known  the  Dever  family  during  all  the 
years  of  their  residence  in  Stillwater,  was  fair  to 
the  prisoner,  honest  in  face  of  the  evidence,  tem 
perate,  considering  the  speech  of  the  prosecutor. 

The  jury,  after  an  absence  of  a  short  half  hour, 
brought  in  their  verdict  of  condemnation.  The 
trial  was  ended,  ended  by  the  clear,  high  voice  of 
the  prisoner,  declaring: 

"But  it's  all  wrong!  How  dare  these  men  say 
I  am  guilty  when  I  never  did  it?" 

That  was  her  protest.  Only  these  simple  words. 
A  little  child  would  say  the  same  if  wrongfully 
accused  by  a  playmate.  There  was  no  breaking 
down,  no  show  of  weakness.  The  accused  shov/ed 
only  astonishment,  so  wrote  the  reporter;  and  this, 
"Joan  Stone"  averred,  was  the  dominant  feeling 
that  possessed  her  when  she  wrote  her  letter  giv 
ing  the  sensations  of  a  woman  when  convicted  of 
murder. 

She  did  not  tax  the  sympathies  of  her  friends 

J 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

who  took  leave  of  her  at  the  door  of  her  cell.  She 
said  she  was  sorry  they  were  disappointed;  sorry 
they  must  still  come,  if  come  they  would,  to  such 
an  uninviting  place  to  see  her;  that  was  all. 

Her  counsel  at  once  set  to  work  to  obtain  a  new 
trial. 

She  said  if  that  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  she 
was  more  than  willing  to  have  it  done.  Surely, 
there  must  be  some  way  out  of  this  terrible  strait  I 
Surely,  surely,  the  law,  and  the  people,  would  not 
allow  an  innocent  woman  to  die  shamefully ! 

It  was  a  grievous  time  in  the  house  of  Frederic 
Drayton  that  day. 

All  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  and  evening 
Paul  lay  on  the  couch  in  the  family  room,  moan 
ing,  grasping  at  his  throat,  from  which  he  had  torn 
cravat  and  collar. 

Lois  came  home  some  time  later,  and,  finding 
Paul  in  this  state  of  incipient  delirium,  she  lost  all 
control  of  herself,  and  wept  unceasingly. 

The  dinner  was  a  sorry  make-believe.  It  was 
in  vain  that  Mr.  Drayton  essayed  to  comfort  his 
wife  and  children.  Mrs.  Drayton  was  dry-eyed, 
and  silent,  save  when  she  sighed: 

"Poor  Nan!    Poor  little  Paul !    Oh,  me!" 

Years  ago  she  had  suffered  so  deeply  that  her 
life  had  well  nigh  been  sapped  away.  Since  then 
her  body  had  been  so  frail — the  merest  shell  to  hold 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  faithful  heart,  the  patient  soul  that  could  not 
desert  husband  and  children. 

Later  Philip  Hale  came  in;  but  Lois's  swollen 
eyes  reproached  him  for  looking  cheerful  in  face 
of  such  a  grievous  wrong. 

"Why,  do  you  suppose  we're  going  to  let  this 
verdict  stand?  Not  by  any  means.  I've  just  left 
Mrs.  Hammel.  She's  as  chipper  as  a  blackbird  in 
a  June  cherry  tree.  I've  had  a  long  talk  with  her, 
and  with  Dawson  &  Fiske.  I'll  not  appear  in  the 
case,  but  have  written  my  father  the  full  history 
of  it.  He's  seventy  years  old,  and  he's  had  over 
forty  years'  experience  in  law.  He  knows  all  phases 
of  it.  He'll  advise  with  Dawson  &  Fiske  in  the 
new  trial,  for,  of  course,  there'll  be  a  new  one." 

"But  if  there  shouldn't  be?"  asked  Lois. 

"I'm  afraid  there's  a  small  chance  of  it,"  Mr. 
Drayton  said.  "As  far  as  I  can  learn,  there  are 
no  reasons  for  a  new  trial.  Everything  has  been 
quite  regular,  and  there  was  not  the  least  hint  of 
a  disagreement  amongst  the  jurors.  It  has  been 
told  that  they  were  unanimous  upon  the  first  bal 
lot,  but  merely  waited  a  little  because  the  prisoner 


was  a  woman." 


"Good  t'ing  dey  had  dat  much  'spectableness !" 
and  there  in  the  corner,  close  by  Paul's  head,  sat 
Auntie  Cleo.  "Wondeh  dey  hadn't  jes'  tuk  po' 
Miss  Nan  out  'n  done  strung  huh  right  up,  kase 
she's  nuffin  but  a  slip  of  a  gal,  an'  can't  help  huh- 

[  179] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

sef.  Dat's  de  way  wid  dese  pesky  men  crittahsl" 
"Now,  Auntie,"  Hale  said,  "don't  be  too  hard 
on  the  men.  We're  not  going  to  let  anybody  hurt 
Miss  Nan."  And  turning  to  Mr.  Drayton:  "I 
don't  know  on  what  grounds  Dawson  &  Fiske  will 
demand  a  new  trial,  but  they  know.  There's  a 
growing  feeling  that  Mrs.  Hammel  has  been  made 
a  scapegoat,  and  that  none  of  her  husband's  people 
have  been  to  see  her  is  very  queer.  That  they  are 
busy,  hard-working  people,  as  Mrs.  Hammel  says, 
is  no  reason.  Those  keys  supply  a  clew  that  should 
have  been  followed,  and  it  was  a  great  oversight 
of  her  counsel  that  it  was  not ;  but  Dawson  &  Fiske 
seemed  to  lose  their  heads  in  view  of  the  evidence, 
and  this  evidence  was  certainly  manufactured  by 
the  guilty  person,  and  the  State  knows  it." 

"Oh,  Philip!"  Mrs.  Drayton  sighed.  "Don't 
say  that.  Our  burden  is  almost  more  than  we  can 
bear  already." 

"I  beg  your  pardon !  I  know,  of  course — I  know, 
too,  that  Dan  suffered  keenly  all  through  the  trial. 
What  possessed  him  at  the  last  is  the  riddle  of  all 
to  me.  But,  in  spite  of  the  evidence,  with  nothing 
to  break  its  force,  the  outcome  is  only  what  was 
to  be  expected.  I  think  Mrs.  Hammel's  counsel 
relied  too  much  on  the  high  character  and  the  per 
sonal  appearance  of  their  client.  They  expected  to 
work  on  the  sympathies  of  the  jury,  but  Dan  had 
turned  their  sluggish  perceptions  the  other  way." 
[180] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Of  course,  the  keys  I  know  nothing  about," 
Lois  said,  "but  I'm  sure  I  know  when  Nan  lost 
her  handkerchief.  If  you  remember,  the  evening 
before  election,  you  and  she  were  to  dinner?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  perfectly,"  Hale  answered. 
"Little  Fred  was  here."  This  with  an  expressive 
glance,  brought  the  faintest  hint  of  a  smile  to  Lois's 
tear-washed  eyes. 

"That  afternoon  I  saw  her  in  her  mother's 
grounds  with  Polly.  Both  were  crying,  and  Nan 
had  picked  a  bunch  of  asters.  She  came  home  with 
me  from  there,  and  it  was  in  my  room  that  she 
said  she  had  had  an  extra  handkerchief,  and  had 
lost  it." 

"Doubtless  she  forgot  all  about  it,  and  on  such 
a  trifle " 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter?"  Paul  cried,  lifting 
himself  on  his  elbow.  "What  does  it  matter,  even 
if  Nan  had  been  seen  entering  her  mother's  house 
by  the  help  of  those  keys?  She  never  did  the 
murder !  But  the  law  will  murder  her !  Oh,  damn 
the  law !"  And  the  boy,  the  weakling,  the  living 
personification  of  the  law's  cruelty,  uttered  in  this 
malediction  the  protests  of  thousands  of  dwarfed 
human  creatures,  dwarfed  because  of  the  fulfillment 
of  the  law — the  law  of  men. 

And  who  shall  say  what  untoward  influences 
worked  this  desire  for  a  blood  price  into  the  brains 
of  the  makers  of  the  law? 

[181] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"YES,  I'll  go  to  the  office,  mother.  Where's  the 
use  of  staying  at  home  ?  Oh,  why  can't  I  do  some 
thing  to  help  Nan?" 

"Never  mind,  dear.  You  and  I,  and  many  of 
Nan's  friends,  can  only  hope  and  be  patient.  Some 
body  else  will  help  her  actively.  You  may  be  sure 
there  will  be  diligence.  I  don't  know  what  good 
Philip  expects  his  father  to  do,  but  he's  an  old  man, 
he  knows,  perhaps,  some  of  the  consequences  that 
have  followed  his  own  practice  of  the  law.  I'm 
sure  Nan  hasn't  an  enemy  in  Stillwater,  and  surely 
so  many  friends  must  save  her.  We  will  not  cease 
to  hope." 

"Mother,  what  do  you  think  will  be  the  effect  of 
this  whole  business  on  Dan?" 

"I  can  give  no  guess.  Dan  is  not  the  boy  he 
used  to  be,  and  with  his  headstrong  temper  and 
his  brilliant  intellect,  I  shrink  from  anticipating 
what  his  future  may  be,  if  he  keeps  on  the  way  he's 
been  going  for  the  last  few  months." 

Paul  left  the  house  and  went  to  his  father's  place 
of  business.  There,  in  the  office  of  the  bookkeeper, 
he  had  made  himself  useful  for  the  last  two  or  three 

[182] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

years.  Anything  like  that  he  could  do.  He  was 
accurate  and  neat  in  his  work,  but  it  must  be  some 
thing  that  was  governed  by  rule.  Basil  was  con 
sidered  one  of  the  rising  young  business  men  of  the 
county.  He  had  been,  for  the  last  six  or  eight  years, 
his  father's  trusted  adviser  and  general  manager. 
Dan  was  a  brilliant  orator,  a  faultless  logician,  a 
sharp  debater.  Paul  only,  of  the  three  sons,  showed 
deficiency.  He  was  weak  in  body,  and,  in  a  meas 
ure,  childish  in  his  intellect.  He  had  always  been 
most  sensitive  in  regard  to  inflicting  pain.  He  was 
intensely  sympathetic.  As  a  child,  he  had  been 
known  to  rush  into  the  street  screaming  at  sight  of 
a  teamster  striking  a  horse.  In  his  training  of  his 
household  pets  they  never  knew  the  touch  of  the 
most  harmless  of  switches. 

As  he  grew  older,  and  read  the  newspaper  re 
ports  of  executions  of  criminals,  he  showed  symp 
toms  of  convulsions.  The  family  strove  to  keep 
everything  of  this  sort  out  of  his  sight. 

Now  the  most  cruel  of  all  things  in  civilization, 
the  official  murder  of  a  woman,  was  to  take  place, 
almost  before  his  eyes;  and  this  woman  one  who 
had  been  like  an  affectionate  older  sister  to  him 
when  both  were  children.  The  thought  of  it  caused 
the  keenest  torture. 

He  tried  with  all  his  strength  to  go  through  the 
routine  of  his  work  correctly,  but  at  the  noon  hour 
he  went  home,  leaning  heavily  on  his  father. 
[183] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Mother,  you  must  keep  this  fellow  at  home. 
He  has  a  nervous  headache!"  And  as  tenderly  as 
he  would  have  assisted  a  baby,  the  father  removed 
Paul's  coats,  arranged  the  cushions  for  him,  and 
tucked  a  slumber-robe  over  him,  on  the  couch. 

His  mother  watched  Paul  as  he  submitted  to  be 
ing  cared  for.  He  was  blue-white  about  his  mouth, 
his  eyes  were  sunken,  he  was  so  fragile,  so  almost 
lifeless.  She  felt  that  the  end  of  his  record  was 
very  near.  He  had  come  into  existence  blighted  by 
the  shadow  of  the  law.  He  would  surely  go  out 
of  life  enveloped,  smothered,  annihilated  by  a  repe 
tition  of  the  horror. 

"Have  you  seen  Nan  to-day,  Lois?"  he  asked. 

"No,  dear.  I'm  going  after  lunch.  Papa's  go 
ing  with  me,  and  we'll  probably  meet  Laura  there." 

"Frances,  too?"  he  said,  without  a  change  of 
tone.  "What  a  shame  it  is  that  she's  one  of  us !" 

"Yes;  but  don't  worry,  dear,  and  make  your  poor 
head  worse.  It'll  all  come  right  by  and  by." 

They  found  Mrs.  Hammel  cheerful,  though  a 
trifle  paler  than  she  had  been. 

"So  inhospitable,"  she  said.  "They  won't  let 
anyone  inside  the  door  at  all ;  and  this  wicket  is  so 
high !  I  spoke  to  the  sheriff  this  morning,  and  he 
said  he'd  see  about  taking  down  this  solid  door  and 
having  one  with  open  bars  from  top  to  bottom,  in 
stead.  Dear  me!  I  never  would  have  supposed 
[184] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

a  lot  of  men  would  take  such  care  of  me!"  And 
she  laughed  in  the  faces  of  her  friends. 

What  could  they  say,  in  view  of  such  buoyancy? 
Merely  make  responses.  The  prisoner  did  the  most 
of  the  talking.  Presently  she  said :  "This  is  club 
day,  isn't  it?  Of  course  you're  going?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  Lois  answered. 

"Why?  Is  your  mother  ill?  Nothing  serious, 
I  hope!" 

"Oh,  no.  Mamma's  as  well  as  usual."  She  pur 
posely  avoided  mentioning  Paul.  "But  I'm  not  in 
trim  for  the  club." 

"Now  don't  lose  courage;  I'm  not  going  to.  Go 
to  the  club,  if  you've  nothing  better  to  do,  and  come 
and  tell  me  what  they  say  about  my  prospects." 
And  again  her  laugh  rippled  along  the  corridors, 
and  other  prisoners  smiled  at  the  unusual  sound. 

As  Mr.  Drayton  and  Lois  were  about  to  go, 
Laura  came  in,  and  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel  through  the  wicket. 

"How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  looking  so  well,"  was 
her  greeting. 

"There's  no  reason  why  I  should  look  other 
wise,  excepting  the  monotony  of  the  whole  busi 
ness,  and  having  my  correspondence  meddled  with." 
And  this  time  her  visitors  laughed  with  her. 

What  the  club  said  and  did  about  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel's  prospects  proved  to  be  well  worth  hearing, 

[185] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

and  the  report  of  the  proceedings  formed  the  basis 
of  one  of  "Joan  Stone's"  wittiest  letters. 

In  the  course  of  the  meeting,  when  new  business 
was  called  for,  Laura  Drayton  arose,  and,  as  di 
rectly  as  possible,  proposed  that,  as  a  club,  they 
ought  to  do  something  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel.  Her  own  idea  was  that  a  petition  be  sent  to 
the  Governor  of  the  State,  asking  for  a  commuta 
tion  of  sentence. 

"It  is  not  the  time  now,"  she  said,  "to  ask  for 
a  pardon,  but  I,  as  a  firm  believer  in  the  innocence 
of  Mrs.  Hammel,  feel  that  we  ought  to  exert  our 
selves  and  have  this  petition,  or  memorial,  ready 
to  send  to  the  Governor  at  once,  in  case  Mrs. 
Hammel  is  denied  a  new  trial.  So  I  move  that  a 
committee  be  appointed  to  draft  a  petition,  or  me 
morial." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  seconds,  and  then  the 
matter  was  discussed.  Laura  was  astonished  and 
shocked  that  there  should  be  any  faintest  dissent 
to  call  for  discussion. 

In  the  course  of  the  argument  she  said  she  could 
not  understand  how  anyone,  and  especially  a  wom 
an,  could  favor  the  death  penalty,  even  when  the 
accused  was  guilty  past  all  doubt,  which  Mrs.  Ham 
mel  surely  was  not. 

Some  of  the  objectors  were  afraid  of  being  sus 
pected  of  sympathy  because  the  prisoner  was  a 
woman.  "Now  if  it  was  a  man,"  said  Mrs.  Mason, 
[186] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"in  all  probability  we  should  take  no  notice  of  the 
matter.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  do  not  favor  the 
petition,  and  for  that  reason  I  shall  not  sign  it." 

"Because  the  prisoner  is  a  woman,"  said  Mrs. 
Macy,  "I  am  in  favor  of  the  movement  for  the 
memorial.  I  think  I  understand  women.  Men  I 
do  not  understand.  I  never  can  see  how  they  can 
blunder  along  and  make  such  barbarous  laws  as 
they  do.  Since  they  do,  I  want  to  do  all  I  can 
against  them." 

Another  member  said — she  who  had  been  able 
at  the  age  of  ten  to  make  dresses  and  cook  dinners 
— that  "since  women  covet  all  privileges  of  the  laws 
on  an  equal  footing  with  men,  they  should  be  ready 
to  take  the  penalties  of  the  laws ;  and  crime  obliter 
ates  sex." 

"Women  will  not  object  to  the  penalties  of  the 
laws,"  said  Mrs.  Milford,  "when  they  have  a  hand 
in  determining  those  penalties.  But  as  long  as  they 
have  not,  I  protest  against  the  infliction  of  many 
of  the  penalties,  and  most  especially  that  of  taking 
life,  even  when  guilt  is  proven  beyond  a  doubt.  In 
the  case  under  consideration  all  the  evidence  is  cir 
cumstantial,  therefore  not  to  be  trusted.  I  protest 
against  it,  and  my  voice  is  for  the  petition." 

"But,"  persisted  Mrs.  Mason,  "neither  do  mi 
nors  have  a  voice  in  the  making  of  the  laws,  yet 
they  are  punished." 

"That  is  no  argument,"  said  Dr.  Moss,     "if 
[187] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

men  make  laws  that  may  result  in  the  murder  of 
their  sons  while  they  still  wear  kilts,  shall  the  moth 
ers  consent?  Say  it  is  right  because  it  is  the  law, 
and  allow  themselves,  too,  to  die  shamefully?  In 
this  case,  a  few  scraps  and  patches  of  circumstances 
are  set  up  as  reasons  for  taking  the  life  of  a  woman, 
a  mere  girl,  whom  many  of  us  have  known  from 
her  infancy.  That  her  conduct  under  this  ordeal  is 
unique,  cannot  be  denied.  Still,  it  is  not  inconsist 
ent.  Anna  Dever  Hammel  comes  of  a  family  of 
strong,  strange,  eccentric  characters.  But  this, 
Madam  President,  though  interesting  to  the  stu 
dent  of  human  nature,  and  the  physician,  is  not 
the  point  under  discussion.  I  call  for  the  ques 
tion." 

The  motion  for  the  memorial  was  carried — not 
unanimously,  but  with  a  large  majority.  The  com 
mittee  was  appointed,  a  committee  of  two — Mrs. 
Milford  and  Dr.  Moss. 


[188] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THIS  committee  had  not  been  appointed  too  soon. 
Before  the  next  meeting  of  the  club,  Judge  Ainslee 
had  denied  a  second  trial  for  Anna  Dever  Hammel, 
and  had  also  passed  sentence  upon  her.  His  action 
throughout,  he  declared,  was  in  accord  with  the  con 
scientious  performance  of  his  duty  under  the  law. 
There  was  no  technical  reason  for  a  new  trial. 

The  prisoner  had  had  a  fair  hearing,  an  oppor 
tunity  to  break  down  the  evidence  of  the  State. 
This  had  not  been  done.  She  had  been  tried  by  a 
jury  of  twelve  unbiassed  men.  Her  counsel  had 
worked  for  her,  her  friends  had  stood  by  her.  The 
verdict  had  been  arrived  at,  even  before  the  jury 
left  the  court-room.  "In  view  of  all  this,"  he 
concluded,  "have  you,  Mrs.  Hammel,  anything  to 
say — any  reason  to  give  why  sentence  should  not 
be  pronounced  upon  you  ?" 

"Only  this,  Judge  Ainslee,"  came  in  a  clear,  firm 
voice,  "that  I  am  innocent,  and  you  know  it,  in 
spite  of  the  evidence.  The  prosecutor  knows  it. 
Perhaps  the  jury  does  not  know  it.  These  men 
look  as  if  they  knew  very  little  of  anything.  I  have 
[189] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

not  been  tried  by  a  jury  of  my  peers.  But  you  know, 
and  Mr.  Dray  ton  knows,  that  you  are  condemning 
to  death  an  innocent  woman!" 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  Judge  Ainslee,  with 
tremulous  hands,  put  on  his  official  black  cap,  a 
fitting  ceremonial,  to  cover  the  seat  of  intellect  with 
blackness  when  consigning  a  fellow  mortal  to  the 
darkness  of  the  unknown. 

"Anna  Dever  Hammel,  the  law  declares  that 
you  be  taken  from  this  place  to  the  county  jail,  to  be 
there  confined  until  the  week  beginning  with  the 
twentieth  of  January,  and  that  then  you  be  taken, 
upon  a  day  appointed,  and  be  hanged  by  the  neck 
till  you  are  dead;  and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  your  soul !" 

The  words  cut  through  an  awful  stillness.  The 
breathing  of  those  present  was  plainly  heard.  Mrs. 
Hammel  stood  motionless  as  a  statue,  her  dark  eyes 
riveted  on  the  face  of  the  judge. 

Her  counsel  stood  near  her,  the  sheriff  was  al 
most  touching  her.  Several  reporters  were  watch 
ing  every  movement,  catching  every  word,  noting 
every  light  and  shadow  of  the  scene. 

Prosecutor  Drayton,  not  less  pallid  than  the  pris 
oner,  stood  in  the  background  with  downcast  eyes. 
Suddenly  a  slight  sound  in  the  gallery  caused  him 
to  look  up.  There  sat  Frances,  staring  alternately 
at  him  and  the  prisoner.  He  turned  abruptly  and 
left  the  room. 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

The  voice  of  the  judge  had  but  died  away,  and 
Sheriff  Kimball  merely  touched  Mrs.  Hammel's 
sleeve,  to  signify  that  she  must  go  to  her  cell,  when 
she  sunk  to  the  floor  and  lay  there,  a  huddled  heap, 
her  forehead  striking  the  tiling. 

Instantly  all  was  confusion.  Judge  Ainslee  sprang 
from  his  place  and  lifted  her,  waving  his  arms  to 
those  who  had  come  out  of  curiosity,  and  who  now 
crowded  about  her. 

"Stand  back!"  he  commanded,  and  he  wheeled 
the  chair  in  which  he  had  placed  her  near  a  win 
dow,  which  he  threw  open.  A  reporter  brought 
a  glass  of  water,  and  a  morbidly  curious  woman 
opened  a  fan.  A  dozen  or  more  women  were  pres 
ent,  and  just  before  the  dark-veined  lids  lifted  an 
other  one  hurried  in,  and  the  face  of  Mrs.  Dray  ton 
was  bending  over  the  condemned  as  she  regained 
consciousness. 

"Stand  back,  Judge  Ainslee  !"  Mrs.  Drayton  said 
in  a  fierce  whisper,  as  he  offered  his  hand.  "Do 
not  dare  to  offer  me  the  hand  that  is  stained  with 
murder!" 

"Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Drayton,  it  is  the  law,  not  I." 

"An  honest  man,  a  man  who  is  not  a  wild  beast 
in  human  form,  will  not  represent  the  law  that 
kills." 

"Your  son,  madam,  has  done  this.  Visit  your 
wrath  upon  him." 

"I  know,  and  I  do.     He  has  thrown  aside  my 


IN   THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

counsels.  He  has  succumbed  to  the  influence  of  a 
she-wolf.  Even  my  love  cannot  forgive  him 
without  full  repentance  and  the  giving  back  of  this 
life." 

Then  tenderly  she  took  the  prisoner  in  her  arms 
and  held  her  in  silence.  It  was  but  for  a  moment. 
Then  Mrs.  Hammel,  lifting  her  head,  gazed  stead 
ily  into  the  eyes  of  her  friend. 

"Too  bad,"  she  said,  "that  you  should  grieve 
for  me.  I've  been  so  sure  of  acquittal;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  I've  felt  that  it  didn't  matter  so  much 
what  happened  to  me.  I've  no  relations  to  be 
grieved  and  disgraced,  but "  and  her  eyes  wan 
dered  to  the  window,  and  she  gazed  out  over  the 
snow-covered  lawn  that  surrounded  the  Court 
House,  where  she  had  played  amongst  the  old  oak 
trees  as  a  child.  It  was  a  clear,  frosty  day,  ideal 
weather  for  the  coming  Christmas.  Mrs.  Hammel 
paused,  and  her  eyes  grew  misty. 

"It's  so  beautiful  to  be  alive  I  thought  I'd  be 
free  before  the  holidays,  but  I'll  not,  and  the  Ham 
mel  family  won't  mind  it  so  much — not  as — if — it 
had  been — Jack." 

Her  bravery  had  returned,  and  she  was  led  back 
to  her  cell,  the  sheriff,  her  counsel,  Mrs.  Drayton, 
and  several  other  friends  accompanying  her. 

It  was  the  greatest  sensation  the  town,  the  county, 
or  the  State  had  ever  experienced.  There  was  noth 
ing  talked  of  in  Stillwater  but  the  murder,  the  trial, 

C 192] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  conviction.  Those  who  had  believed  in  the  in 
nocence  of  the  accused  still  believed.  Those  who 
professed  to  have  reasons  for  believing  the  verdict 
just  had  little  to  say.  The  horror  of  the  matter 
was  too  great.  If  Mrs.  Hammel  had  been  sen 
tenced  to  a  long  term  of  imprisonment,  even  for 
life,  those  who  believed  her  guilty  would  have  held 
up  their  hands,  and  exclaimed,  "O  wise  judge!" 
But,  to  sentence  her  to  be  hanged — that  was  giving 
more  justice  than  was  really  desired.  It  was  a  sur 
feit,  and  in  the  recoil  there  was  no  dissent  on  the 
corner  of  the  street.  One  evening,  when  a  party  of 
workingmen  met  by  chance,  the  Dever  tragedy 
came  under  discussion,  and  a  stalwart  young  me 
chanic  yelled:  "Let's  test  the  rope  first  with  old 
Judge  Ainslee  or  Dan  Dray  ton  1"  So  far  from 
being  dissent,  the  remark  met  approval,  and  there 
was  shouting  through  the  streets,  and  cries  of 
"Hang  the  judge!"  "Hang  the  prosecutor!" 
"Don't  hang  the  woman!" 

Mr.  Drayton,  passing  homeward  from  a  meet 
ing  of  the  Town  Council,  heard  these  shouts,  and 
he  set  his  teeth  hard.  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing, 
and  yet  he  felt  a  gladness  that  this  sentiment  was 
abroad.  Other  deaths  by  violence  the  town  would 
not  see,  but  this  one,  ordered  by  the  law,  would 
not  take  place.  The  people  would  surely  prevent 
it,  in  spite  of  the  law.  He  went  on  to  his  own  home, 
and  his  account  of  the  small  demonstration  slightly 

[  193] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

lightened  the  gloom  that  was  more  than  the  bit 
terness  of  death. 

In  the  home  of  Dan  Drayton  there  was  quarrel 
ing  such  as  had  never  been  before.  Frances  had 
heard  the  words  of  her  mother-in-law  to  Judge 
Ainslee.  It  had  been  sufficiently  galling  for  her  to 
see  her  husband's  evident  suffering  on  that  day,  and 
then,  added  to  this,  was  Mrs.  Drayton's  harsh  ex 
pression,  in  public.  She  had  sought  most  earnestly 
to  influence  Dan  against  the  wishes  of  his  own  fam 
ily.  She  had  had  an  intense  craving  for  their  ac 
knowledgment  of  her  influence.  She  fancied  her 
triumph  when  she  should  see  them  standing  aloof, 
confessing  her  sway  above  their  own.  The  acknowl 
edgment  had  come.  She  had  received  all  she  had 
desired.  She  could  say  most  honestly: 

"I  have  longed,  and  I  have  had  my  will ; 
***** 

And  I  have  nothing  left  to  long  for  now." 

Mrs.  Drayton  had  acknowledged  the  sway  of  her 
son's  wife. 

The  wife  had  heard  it.  The  words  could  not 
have  been  plainer;  but,  like  the  answers  to  many 
prayers,  the  fulfillment  of  many  desires,  there  was 
no  satisfaction  in  it.  For  a  few  days  the  bickering 
went  on  between  the  husband  and  wife;  but  the 
growing  public  sentiment,  Dan's  knowledge  of  the 
illness  of  Paul,  and  his  mother's  overpowering 
[  194] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

grief,  to  say  nothing  of  his  self-condemnation,  so 
wrought  upon  him,  that  he  sat  one  evening  in  si 
lence.  He  was  too  broken-spirited  to  give  back 
taunt  for  taunt,  snarl  for  snarl.  Then  Frances 
stormed : 

"Sit  there  like  a  dolt !  I'd  rather  be  a  wolf  than 
a  fool,  or  give  birth  to  one !" 

Dan  lifted  his  heavy  eyes  and  answered: 

"This  has  gone  far  enough.  I  am  the  fool,  born 
of  the  best  woman  the  good  God  ever  made.  I'll 
be  your  fool  no  longer !  I  see  now  the  beginning 
of  this  day.  Oh,  if  I  had  been  in  position  to  defend 
Nan,  to  take  the  matter  up  at  the  start,  she'd  never 
even  have  been  indicted.  I  say  it  now  because  I'm 
going  away,  out  of  this  house.  Procure  any  coun 
sel  you  choose,  at  my  expense.  You  and  I  are  two." 

He  went  into  the  hall  and  put  on  his  overcoat, 
and  came  back  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me  that  cannot 
be  said  through  a  third  person,  you'll  find  me  at  the 
Stillwater  Hotel." 

He  opened  the  door,  glanced  back  to  say  "good 
night,"  and  was  gone. 

Frances  was  too  much  astonished  to  realize  at 
once  what  had  happened.  For  some  minutes  she 
sat  in  silence.  She  was  sure  that  Dan  would  re 
turn  almost  at  once.  Every  instant  she  expected  to 
hear  the  key  in  the  latch ;  but  there  was  a  light  tin 
kle  of  the  bell,  and  she  went  to  the  dining-room. 

[195] 


IN  THE   FIRST  DEGREE 

The  girl  waited;  and  Frances,  seeing  that  she 
looked  expectantly  toward  the  parlor  door,  said : 

"Mr.  Drayton  had  to  go — to — his  office  on  an 
errand.  I'll  not  wait."  And  the  dinner  was  served. 

Frances  could  not  believe  but  that  Dan,  after 
cooling  his  anger  by  a  walk  around  a  block  or  two, 
would  come  in  and  find  her,  not  in  the  least  dis 
turbed  by  his  threat.  She  was  prepared  to  receive 
him  with  her  loftiest  manner.  She  even  decided  on 
the  exact  words  she  would  say.  For  one  thing,  she 
would  call  him  Mr.  Prosecutor,  and  ask  him  if  he 
had  been  to  call  upon  his  mother.  She  would  say, 
too,  "Is  the  old  lady  pining  to  see  me  ?" 

That  much  was  certain  whenever  he  came;  but 
she  ate  her  dinner  very  leisurely,  much  to  her  Abi 
gail's  disgust,  who  was  fuming  to  get  her  work 
done  so  that  she  might  go  to  the  kitchen  next  door 
and  compare  notes  about — everything  that  had 
happened  in  the  two  families  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours.  But,  dawdle  as  the  lady  would,  she 
had  to  finish  her  dinner  at  last,  alone.  Alone  she 
sat  all  the  evening. 

At  eleven  o'clock  she  said  to  herself  that  Dan 
must  have  been  in  earnest.  She  went,  as  usual,  to 
the  back  part  of  the  house  to  see  that  the  maid  was 
in  and  the  doors  secure.  This  evening  the  girl  eyed 
her  sharply.  She  had  had  her  regular  gossip  with 
her  "lady  friend"  next  door,  and  her  friend's  friend 
had  called.  This  caller  was  a  waiter  from  the  Still- 
[196] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

water  Hotel.  He  reported  that  he  had  been  "reg'- 
larly  kerflumoxed  by  Mr.  Dan  Drayton  comin'  to 
the  hotel  an'  takin'  a  room,  an'  then  marchin'  into 
the  dinin'-room  an'  orderin'  dinner.  I  waited  on 
'im  myself.  He  didn't  eat  so  very  much,  but  'e 
made  Up  a  respectable  average  with  drinks — just 
plain  brandy  an'  vichy,  an'  'e  took  'em  all  through 
'is  dinner.  I  left  'im  talkin'  in  the  office  to  an  old 
feller,  Lawyer  Hale's  father,  who'd  come  on  the 
six  o'clock  Eastern  express.  An'  I'll  tell  you,  la 
dies,"  he  said  confidentially,  "Papa  Hale's  a  reg'lar 
swell.  He  has  a  man  with  'im  to  wait  on  'im,  his 
valley  he  calls  'im,  an'  that's  right;  where  there's 
two  hills  there's  commonly  a  valley,  an'  ef  Phil 
Hale  an'  'is  pa  ain't  two  high-headed  swells,  then 
my  name  ain't  Clarence  Marks." 

In  view  of  this  information  the  servant  regarded 
her  mistress  narrowly.  She  felt  sure  she  could  see 
confirmation  of  Mr.  Marks's  story  in  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton's  manner.  She  even  cast  a  prophetic  glance  to 
ward  the  end  of  the  long  story  of  which  the  key 
holes  of  the  house,  and  many  unavoidable  positions 
she  had  occupied  as  maid-of-all-work,  had  supplied 
many  chapters. 

Frances  said:  "Be  sure  the  doors  and  windows 
are  secure.  Since  that  dreadful  Hammel  woman  is 
in  the  town  one  cannot  be  too  careful." 

Kitty  responded  respectfully : 

"Yes,  ma'am,  an'  I  guess  some  folks  '11  be  awful 

[  197] 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

glad  when  she's  swung  off.    I  know  some  'at  will, 
any  way." 

Kitty  told  her  friend  next  day  that  she  believed 
that  was  as  good  a  joke  as  any  Mrs.  Hammel  put 
into  her  letters,  but  "Mrs.  Drayton  never  tumbled 
to  it  at  all.  She's  awful  stupid." 


[198] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IT  was  a  few  days  after  Mrs.  Hammel  had  re 
ceived  her  sentence,  when  Philip  Hale  called  on 
Mrs.  Drayton,  in  the  afternoon,  to  ask  permission 
to  bring  his  father  to  meet  the  family  in  the  even 
ing. 

They  came,  and  Mrs.  Drayton  met  face  to  face 
the  man  whose  decision  in  a  murder  case  had  made 
the  tragedy  of  her  own  life.  As  he  clasped  her  hand 
and  spoke  a  few  formal  words  in  answer  to  her  own, 
his  eyes  wandered  from  her  face  to  Paul,  and  an 
expression  of  sympathy  drew  heavy  lines  about  his 
mouth.  He  stood  by  the  invalid's  chair  and  touched 
his  hands,  murmuring  words  of  kindliness  and 
hope. 

Paul  had  not  been  out  of  the  house  for  several 
days.  His  strength  was  barely  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  walk  about  the  lower  rooms. 

"My  son  has  told  me  all  about  it,  Mrs.  Dray 
ton.  Ah !  it  is  hard  to  pray  'Father,  forgive  them, 
they  know  not  what  they  do!'  If  we  could  but 
know,  or,  even  knowing  when  it  is  done,  if  we 
could  in  any  degree  make  repaiation — but  the  con 
sequences  of  what  we  do  are  eternal." 
[  199] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

He  stood  by  Paul,  who  seemed  only  half  con 
scious  much  of  the  time  of  what  was  passing  about 
him.  Then  Philip  said: 

"Father,  here  is  Lois." 

"Ah,  yes — Lois.  With  Phil's  permission."  And 
he  kissed  her  forehead. 

By  and  by  the  one  absorbing  topic  was  brought 
up  by  Judge  Hale.  He  said  softly  to  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton: 

"Will  it  disturb  your  son?  Would  we  better 
wait  until  some  other  time?" 

Low  as  it  was  spoken,  Paul  heard,  and  under 
stood. 

"No!  no!"  he  said  eagerly.  "That's  what  I 
want  to  hear.  If  you  can  only  help  Nan,  it  will 
be  the  best  work  you  ever  did  in  your  life.  Please 
go  on." 

With  the  exertion  of  speaking  his  head  sank  for 
ward  on  his  breast.  His  mother  placed  it  on  the 
cushions,  and  his  father  tilted  the  chair  to  hold  him 
so.  The  spasms  in  his  throat  were  growing  more 
violent  as  his  strength  waned,  and  they  seemed  at 
times  to  stop  his  breath. 

All  the  phases  of  the  tragedy  were  talked  over. 
Judge  Hale  had  the  story  from  his  son,  and  he  had 
the  purely  legal  side  of  it  from  Dawson  &  Fiske ; 
but  the  most  valuable  notes  of  all  he  had  received 
from  Prosecutor  Drayton. 

One  view  of  the  case  he  said  nothing  about.  This 
[  200  ] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

was  the  view  his  man  Peters  had  supplied  him.  Pe 
ters  was  voted  by  "the  help"  to  be  by  far  the  jolliest 
guest  the  Stillwater  Hotel  had  entertained  for  a 
long  time.  He  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  few 
hours  when  he  had  struck  up  a  friendship  with  the 
head  waiter,  and  he  proposed  to  that  dignitary  that 
they  go  to  the  next  best  hotel  in  the  town  and  see 
the  girls.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  togeth 
er  they  went  to  the  Ross  House. 

There  Peters  ingratiated  himself  with  the  special 
friend  of  the  waiter.  She  also  was  at  the  top  of 
the  ladder,  being  first  chambermaid.  Peters  called 
her  "First  lady  of  the  bed  chamber."  Another 
one  of  the  maids,  happening  to  come  upon  the  three 
in  the  pantry,  where  they  were  making  themselves 
hilarious  over  ginger  pop,  Peters  insisted  that  she 
join  them.  He  adroitly  led  the  conversation  to  the 
Hammel  case;  said  he  had  heard  the  condemned 
woman  used  to  live  at  the  house.  This  was  at  once 
confirmed  by  the  trio.  Next  he  asked  if  the  rooms 
formerly  occupied  by  Mrs.  Hammel  might  be 
shown  him.  There  was  ready  assent,  as  the  rooms 
were  vacant. 

The  four  proceeded  upstairs,  and  Peters  was  full 
of  interest  at  once. 

"Now,"  he  said,  as  he  peered  about,  "hif  I  c'u'd 

unly  find  some  trifle  'at  b'longed  to  Mistress  'Am- 

mel,  Hird  put  hit  into  the  Museum  in  Boston.  Hev- 

er  been  to  Boston?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the  three. 

[  201  ] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

Not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  there. 

"Well,  ye  see,  in  this  museum  they  'ave  hall  sorts 
o'  curiosities;  with  the  names  of  the  people  who 
put  'em  there.  Ef  I  c'u'd  unly  find  something  of 
Mistress  'Ammel's,  all  our  names'd  be  there  along 
with  the  rest  o'  the  swells." 

This  was  a  glimpse  of  possible  fame,  and  the 
rooms  were  thoroughly  searched.  But,  after  all 
these  weeks,  after  they  had  been  renovated  in  the 
fall  house  cleaning,  and  since  then  occupied  by  oth 
er  guests,  the  search,  very  reasonably,  proved  fruit 
less. 

Still,  Peters  was  much  interested,  and  when  told 
that  Mrs.  Hammel  had  a  husband,  who  had  been 
there  for  some  time,  he  said:  "Oh,  yes;  so  she 
had  a  'usband.  Poor  fellow,  'ow  dreadful  he  must 
befeelin'I" 

He  asked  all  sorts  of  questions  about  Hammel, 
and  his  new  friends  gave  him  many  chapters  of  do 
mestic  history,  as  they  saw  it  in  the  behavior  of 
their  guests.  The  two  girls  agreed  that  Mr.  Ham 
mel  was  a  handsome  man,  but  no  good.  Still,  they 
said  he  was  sick,  and  it  had  seemed  to  them  a  heart 
less  thing  for  Mrs.  Hammel  "to  pack  'im  off  to 
Chicago  when  he  was  hardly  fit  to  be  out  of  bed." 

"Well,  now,  let  me  tell  you,"  Peters  said,  and 
he  glanced  expressively  at  Jenny,  the  "second  lady 
of  the  bed  chamber,"  "hif  Hi'd  a  pretty  wife,  an' 
[  202  ] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

she  sent  me  hoff  like  that,  Hi'd  come  back  on  the 
next  train." 

"That's  jest  what  everybody  thought  he'd  done," 
Jenny  declared.  "Sam  Good  said  he  seen  somebody 
in  a  long  ulster  go  up  the  stairs  the  night  of  the 
murder;  but  it  turned  out  to  be  Mrs.  Hammel  in 
a  mackintosh." 

Though  there  were  no  mementoes  discovered  for 
the  Boston  Museum,  Peters  expressed  himself  de 
lighted  with  his  visit,  and  said  he  would  be  glad 
to  come  again,  if  he  had  permission  from  a  certain 
person,  and  he  winked  at  Jenny,  and  nudged  her 
elbow  with  his  own. 

With  a  toss  of  her  head,  Jenny  guessed  he 
"needn't  stand  on  so  much  ceremony,  but  come 
when  he  pleased,  and  her  night  out  was  Thursday, 
and " 

He  finished  for  her:  "All  right.  A  wink's  as 
good  as  a  nod  to  an  auctioneer,  and  my  father  was 
one." 

Jenny  confided  to  her  "superior"  that  though  she 
"nat'rally  despised  Englishmen,  still  Peters  ain't  so 
bad,  an'  sometimes  he  talks  without  a  bit  of 
brogue." 

An  evening  or  two  later,  when  the  new  friends 
of  Peters  were  thinking  it  took  him  a  "long  time 
to  put  his  old  man  to  bed,"  said  old  man,  his  son, 
and  Peters  were  sitting  together,  with  closed  doors. 
Peters  was  doing  most  of  the  talking,  and  though 
[  203  ] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

he  still  bore  some  resemblance  to  the  Americanized 
Cockney  servant,  his  general  appearance,  his  speech, 
and  the  expression  of  his  face  were  those  of  a  man 
of  affairs,  a  citizen  of  the  world. 

"No,"  he  said,  "there's  nothing  to  be  done  here. 
Chicago's  the  place,  and  those  Hammels  are  the 
people.  Not  one  of  them  put  in  an  appearance 
at  the  trial.  Mrs.  Hammel's  had  no  letters  from 
Chicago  excepting  from  her  publishers.  A  fellow's 
got  to  be  pretty  low  down  not  to  come  forward  with 
some  little  show  of  human  feeling  when  his  wife's 
tried  for  murder,  especially  when  the  victim  is  his 
mother-in-law.  These  alleged  lawyers,  Dawson  & 
Fiske,  are  blacksmiths,  farmers,  dealers  in  junk — 
anything  but  lawyers  I" 

"Whatever  is  done  must  be  done  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,"  said  the  elder  Hale.  "Judge  Ainslee  has  but 
scantily  kept  within  the  limits  of  the  law  in  the  time 
he  gives  the  prisoner." 

"It's  a  nasty  business,"  Philip  said,  "and  I  sup 
pose  he  thinks  the  sooner  it's  over  the  sooner  the 
community  will  get  over  the  shock  of  it.  How  soon 
will  you  go  to  Chicago?"  turning  to  Peters. 

"What  do  you  think,  Judge?  I'd  like  to  get  the 
girl  out  by  Christmas." 

"You  speak  confidently." 

"I  speak  as  I  feel — as  I  know.     If  I  once  get 

my  fingers  on  that  man  Hammel,  and The 

[204] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

whole  family  can't  go  into  hiding.  It's  the  general 
story  that  he's  quite  an  invalid." 

"Yes;  when  he  left  here  I  wouldn't  have  given 
him  six  months." 

"So  much  the  better  if  he's  the  principal  in  this 
business ;  but  I  hope  he's  still  on  deck,  with  breath 
enough  to  last  till  I  run  him  to  cover  and  make  him 
give  an  account  of  himself." 

"Will  you  go  to  Chicago,  too,  father?" 

"Yes.  I  may  be  useful  in  the  way  of  hurried 
depositions  and  such  matters.  I  haven't  been  in 
Chicago  for — ten  years,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  keep 
moving.  This  family  of  Draytons — they  haunt  me. 
Such  blunders  as  we  make  sometimes  in  our  zeal — 
for — our  own  advancement." 

"It  was  not  wholly  that  in  your  case,  was  it?" 

Judge  Hale  hesitated. 

"It  looks  to  me  now  as  if  it  had  been.  Of  course, 
at  the  time,  I  felt  that  I  was  only  doing  my  plain, 
disagreeable  duty.  It  was  in  my  day's  work,  right 
enough.  I  was  just  home  from  the  Civil  War, 
when  I  was  elected  to  the  office  of  Governor.  I 
sailed  through  the  campaign  with  a  halo  of  military 
glory.  Of  course,  I  was,  at  that  time,  a  lawyer  of 
— fifteen  years'  experience.  I  knew  the  law,  and 
in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Parks  it  was  plain.  According 
to  the  law  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
suffer  the  extreme  penalty.  I  could  have  saved  her 
life,  and — I — did — not.  I  think  my  four  years  in 
[205] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

the  army  had  blunted  my  sensibilities.  The  sight 
of  death  in  horrible  forms  was  common  to  me,  and 
if  I  had  not  been  enlightened  in  many  ways,  I'd 
have  forgotten,  in  a  measure,  the  episode  of  Mrs. 
Parks.  But  this  enlightening  has  come  to  me  in 
so  many  ways,  and  the  light  keeps  on  coming.  It's 
a  long  lesson.  It  crops  out  in  so  many  unexpected 
places.  The  worst  of  it  is,  every  time  the  case 
comes  up,  my  lack  of  mercy,  of  common  human 
feeling,  is  shown  in  a  clearer,  stronger  light,  and 
the  fact  that  I  can  make  no  reparation  grows  hard 
er  to  bear.  I  think,  Peters,  I  must  get  you  to  look 
up  that  sister  of  Mrs.  Parks,  but  I  don't  even  know 
her  name.  She  adopted  the  child — Mrs.  Parks's 
baby — a  girl,  if  I  remember  rightly — and  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done  for  her." 

"All  right,  Judge;  but  let's  first  get  this  other 
woman  out  of  the  noose.  When  this  is  well  done 
I'm  your  man." 

"I  think,  father,  if  you  succeed  in  saving  Mrs. 
Hammel,  you  will  reach  a  long  way  toward  being 
forgiven  by  Mrs.  Drayton." 

"Ah!  but  that  boy!  How  can  she  forgive  me? 
How,  even,  can  an  infinite  God  forgive  me?  I 
never  saw  such  a  distressing  spectacle  as  that  ill- 
made,  gasping  boy.  I  sincerely  hope  we'll  have  this 
friend  of  his  released  while  he  can  know  it." 


[206] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IT  was  only  in  accord  with  established  usage  that 
Philip  Hale  made  a  daily  call  upon  his  fiancee;  but 
these  calls  were  looked  forward  to,  and  longed  for, 
by  Paul,  much  more  impatiently  than  any  girl  ever 
watched  for  her  lover. 

Philip  responded  in  most  brotherly  fashion  to 
the  demands  of  the  invalid.  After  the  going  away 
of  Judge  Hale  and  Peters,  Paul  grew  quieter,  but 
sometimes  his  silence  seemed  to  the  anxious  watch 
ers  the  effects  of  weakness  and  hopelessness. 

He  lay  upon  his  couch  the  greater  part  of  the 
day,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  the  family  and  friends 
endeavored  to  interest  him  in  ordinary  things,  or 
draw  his  mind  from  brooding  on  the  situation  of 
Mrs.  Hammel. 

When  Philip  came,  Paul's  agitation  was  most 
painful  until  he  had  been  told  all  that  had  been 
heard  from  Judge  Hale.  This  news  was  neces 
sarily  most  meager.  The  detective  had  learned  that 
Jack  Hammel  had  reached  Chicago  in  due  time 
after  Mrs.  Hammel's  telegram  to  his  father,  but 
within  a  few  hours  he  had  a  message,  signed  Anna 
[207  ] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

Dever  Hammel,  recalling  him  to  Stillwater.  That 
was  all  that  the  family  knew.  Of  course,  they  had 
heard  of  the  murder,  and  the  trial,  and  all  that,  but 
where  Jack  was  they  could  not,  or  at  least  would 
not,  say.  They  professed  entire  ignorance  of  him, 
and  Peters  said  he  believed  they  spoke  the  truth. 
Not  only  this,  he  felt  sure  that  each  and  every  one 
of  the  family  hoped  they  never  would  know  any 
thing  more  of  the  scamp  of  their  circle. 

Still,  they  were  watched  closely,  shadowed  in 
their  goings  and  comings,  but  without  results. 

These  days  with  no  encouraging  news,  no  pros 
pects  for  the  release  of  the  prisoner,  were  most  tor 
turing  to  Paul. 

There  were  no  preparations  for  Christmas 
amongst  the  Draytons,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  town 
seemed  only  to  half  realize  that  the  holidays  were 
near.  When  it  became  known  that  Judge  Hale 
was  in  Stillwater,  in  the  interests  of  Mrs.  Ham 
mel,  the  feeling  against  Judge  Ainslee  and  Dan 
Drayton  was  increased. 

The  judge  never  appeared  on  the  street  without 
hearing  words  that  threatened,  and  Dan  Drayton 
received  many  wrathful  letters,  both  through  the 
mails  and  left  in  his  letter-box  at  the  door  by  per 
sons  unknown.  Sheriff  Kimball  was  warned  that 
a  second  rope  was  in  waiting  for  him  if  he  dared 
to  execute  the  sentence  of  the  law  upon  Mrs.  Ham 
mel. 

[  208  ] 


IN    THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

It  was  said  openly  by  the  most  respectable  and 
law-abiding  portion  of  the  townspeople  that  if  the 
execution  took  place  at  all  it  must  be  in  secret.  This 
could  not  be.  The  law  provided  for  and  required 
a  certain  degree  of  publicity,  and  if  once  it  became 
known  that  the  necessary  preparations  were  going 
forward  it  was  feared  there  might  be  a  riot. 

When  it  became  known  that  Dan  Drayton  had 
quarreled  with  his  wife  on  account  of  Mrs.  Ham- 
mel  the  feeling  toward  him  was  slightly  modified, 
but  he  still  received  scant  courtesy,  here  where  he 
had  always  called  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
his  friend. 

It  was  the  Sunday  after  the  final  quarrel  between 
Dan  and  Frances  that  Paul  insisted  that  his  mother 
should  go  to  church. 

She  had  been  with  him  constantly,  and  she,  too, 
was  growing  weak  and  shadowy. 

"Please  go,"  Paul  coaxed.  "I'll  be  glad  to  think 
of  you  being  there.  Uncle  Zeke  can  stay  with  me, 
and  we'll  talk  over  all  the  time  when  Nan  was  such 
a  pretty  little  girl.  And  please,  mother,  bring  Phil 
home  with  you.  I  do  hope  Dan  and  Frances  won't 
come!" 

This  last  hope  was  realized.  Neither  of  the  two 
was  at  church;  and  when  Basil,  drawing  his  moth 
er's  hand  within  his  arm,  started  home  with  her,  she 
said: 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  Dan?" 
[209] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

He  answered  with  an  account  of  the  quarrel  as 
he  had  received  it  from  his  brother,  adding : 

"I  saw  Dan  this  morning  at  the  hotel.  I  told 
him  of  Paul's  illness,  and  he  thought  he  would  bet 
ter  stay  away  to-day,  and  I  think  so,  too." 

"Such  a  shame  that  our  family  should  be  so  di 
vided!  What  ever  will  become  of  Dan?" 

"Oh,  he's  all  right;  that  is,  in  health;  and  I  think 
it's  an  encouraging  sign  that  he  has  rebuked  Frances 
by  leaving  the  house.  They'll  make  up  by  and  by, 
and  the  whole  occurrence  may  prove  a  lesson  for 
both.  She  oughtn't  to  expect  to  cut  out  his  work 
for  him,  irrespective  of  all  the  years  of  his  life  be 
fore  he  met  her;  and  he  should  have  been  man 
enough  to  teach  her  her  place,  since  she  didn't  know 
it.  He  is  really  the  one  to  blame.  He  had  had 
the  home  training,  the  drill  in  correct  living.  She 
knows  nothing  of  this — doesn't  understand  her  own 
position  at  all." 

"Such  a  pity!"  sighed  Mrs.  Drayton. 

"Don't  worry,"  Basil  said  cheerfully,  giving  his 
mother's  hand  a  warm  clasp  as  it  lay  on  his  arm. 
"If  Daddy  Hale  and  his  man  get  Anna  out  of  her 
trouble,  things  in  that  direction  will  be  smooth,  and 
Dan  may  give  thanks  that  his  ambitious  blunder  is 
rectified  and  then  start  newly.  Phil's  a  fine  fellow, 
isn't  he?" 

"Yes.  He's  been  our  rock  of  strength  lately," 
[210] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

and  Mrs.  Drayton  really  laughed.  "Paul  watches 
for  him  much  more  impatiently  than  Lois  does." 

"Oh,  Lois !  She's  like  all  the  rest  of  the  girls — 
good  at  playing  indifference.  If  Phil  should  fail 
to  show  up  some  day,  our  royal  lady  would  fly  her 
true  colors." 

"I  hope  he'll  not  fail — on  Paul's  account.  Lois 
is  strong,  and  able  to  bear  all  that  may  or  may  not 
come  to  her;  but  poor  little  Paul " 

They  had  reached  the  home  gate,  when  the  street 
door  opened,  and  the  young  man  in  question  came 
down  the  walk  and  met  them. 

"So  you've  been  with  our  poor  boy?"  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton  said,  clasping  his  hand. 

"Yes.  I  had  some  news  that  I  thought  would 
brace  him  up,  and  I  came  to  him  for  an  hour  instead 
of  going  to  church." 

"But  don't  go  away  now !  Come  in  with  us  for 
dinner.  I'm  afraid  Auntie  has  been  an  indifferent 
hostess,  to  allow  you  to  go." 

"No,  indeed.  Auntie  was  most  pressing  in  her 
invitation,  and  so  was  Uncle  Zeke.  I  came  away 
by  force;  and  with  thanks,  I'll  not  go  back  now,  but 
come  again  later.  I  expect  more  news  from  Peters 
any  hour,  and  Paul  must  have  it  as  soon  as  possi 
ble." 

While  they  talked,  the  rest  of  the  family  arrived, 
and  to  them,  all  together,  Philip  gave  in  a  few 
words  the  news  from  Chicago  that  he  said  Paul  had 

[211] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

had  in  detail.  It  was  only  that  Peters  had  learned 
enough  of  Jack  Hammel  to  warrant  him  in  the 
belief  that  he  was  in  that  city. 

"He's  a  most  reliable  man,  this  Peters,  so  my 
father  says,  and  within  the  last  few  years  he  has 
assisted  in  some  of  the  most  notable  cases  in  the 
cities  of  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston. 
He'll  do  the  work,  I'm  sure." 


[212] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AT  the  next  meeting  of  the  "Daughters  of  En 
deavor"  there  was  a  stormy  session.  After  the 
usual  formalities  were  disposed  of  in  the  regular 
line  of  business,  the  reports  of  committees  were 
called  for.  There  had  been  but  one  committee  ap 
pointed  at  the  last  meeting,  and  that  one,  for  the 
drawing  up  of  the  Anna  Dever  Hammel  memorial, 
was  invited  to  report. 

In  answer,  Mrs.  Milford  arose  and  read  a  few 
plainly  expressed  but  comprehensive  reasons  for 
setting  aside  the  death  penalty  for  crime.  More 
especially  in-  the  case  of  women  was  this  law  unjust. 
Women,  being  the  mothers  of  the  race,  and  being 
debarred  from  any  share  in  making  the  laws,  they 
were  certainly  entitled  to  some  clemency  on  the  part 
of  those  who  made  and  administered  these  laws. 
Mention  was  also  made  of  the  fallibility  of  cir 
cumstantial  evidence,  and  the  well-known  irre 
proachable  character  of  the  condemned  woman. 
The  petition  asked  that  the  extreme  sentence  be 
changed  to  life  imprisonment,  so  that  if  the  pris 
oner  should,  in  the  near  or  remote  future,  be  proven 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

guiltless,  she  could  be  released;  and,  though  suf 
fering  this  injustice,  still  the  law  would  not  bear  the 
stigma  of  murdering  the  innocent. 

As  soon  as  the  reading  was  finished  the  storm 
broke.  The  president  was  at  her  wit's  end.  Parlia 
mentary  law  was  broken  to  bits  and  cast  to  the 
winds.  Mrs.  Mason  was  most  severe  in  her  de 
nunciation  of  the  matter  contained  in  the  memo 
rial. 

"No  mention  should  have  been  made  of  sex,"  she 
declared.  "We  don't  want  to  save  Mrs.  Hammel 
because  she's  a  woman,  but  because  she's  a  sinful 
creature,  and  unfit  to  die.  Her  crime  obliterates 
her  sex " 

"But,"  Mrs.  Milford  interrupted,  "we  have  said 
distinctly  that  we  do  not  believe  her  guilty,  as 
charged." 

"I  do  believe  her  guilty.  She  has  expressed  her 
self  here  in  the  presence  of  these  ladies  as  no  Chris 
tian  woman  would,  and  a  woman  who  is  not  a 
Christian  has  no  scruples  to  prevent  her  commit 
ting  any  and  all  crimes." 

"Madam  President !"  said  Dr.  Moss.  "I,  as  one 
of  the  committee  appointed  by  you,  and  others  of 
the  society,  to  draft  this  memorial,  protest  against 
the  expression  of  such  sentiments.  They  are  both 
unchristian  and  unwomanly.  No  one  here  will  be 
compelled,  nor  need  feel  under  the  least  obligation, 
to  sign  this  petition.  My  understanding  was,  and 
[214] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

still  is,  that  the  committee  appointed  should  speak 
for  those  who  believe,  as  we  do,  that  the  death  pen 
alty  is  barbarous,  and  most  especially  cruel  where 
there  is  the  least  possibility  of  innocence.  Still, 
more  abhorrent  and  unjust  is  the  death  penalty 
when  a  woman  suffers  it." 

"That  is  the  point  to  which  I  most  object,"  Mrs. 
Mason  retorted.  "The  Governor  '11  say  we're  a  lot 
of  strong-minded  women  clamoring  for  suffrage, 
and  doing  many  other  unladylike  things.  I  cannot 
consent  to  put  my  name  to  the  instrument  as  it 
stands,  nor  do  I  approve  of  sending  out  such  senti 
ments  as  the  expression  of  the  'Daughters  of  En 
deavor.'  I,  as  a  charter  member  of  the  club,  have 
a  right  to  be  heard." 

As  she  sat  down  the  president  said :  "The  claim 
of  being  a  charter  member  is  something  to  be  proud 
of  in  an  organization  that  has  held  together  for 
the  mutual  improvement  of  its  members  for  ten 
years,  but  our  constitution  makes  no  provision  for 
special  privileges  for  charter  members.  They  have 
a  voice  and  vote  in  all  proceedings,  but  no  more 
than  that.  The  member  who  paid  her  initiation  fee 
last  week  has  the  same  rights  and  privileges." 

Next  Lois  arose,  and  in  her  masked-battery  fash 
ion  very  quietly  said: 

"Madam  President!  In  reference  to  what  the 
last  speaker  before  yourself  said  in  regard  to  the 
Governor's  possible  opinion  of  us,  though  it  is  only 
[215] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

a  guess,  I  am  sure  we'll  all  be  gratified  if  the  guess 
proves  correct.  Personally,  I  shall  be  very  glad 
if  I  know  to  a  certainty  that  the  Governor  thinks 
we  are  in  our  right  senses,  and  have  sound,  strong 
minds.  Of  course,  he  knows,  and  we  know,  that 
there's  a  hospital  in  the  State  for  feeble-minded 
folk,  and  we  know  it's  very  much  crowded.  I  should 
be  deeply  mortified  if  he  should  suppose  that  the 
overflow  was  to  be  found  here  in  Stillwater,  under 
the  name  of  'The  Daughters  of  Endeavor.'  As 
to  being  suspected  of  wanting  the  ballot,  I  see  no 
reason  why  a  woman  should  be  censured  for  want 
ing  it,  nor  derided  for  achieving  it,  if  she  can.  It 
was  not  a  woman  who  wrote  'Man  wants  but  little 
here  below,'  and  the  man  who  wrote  it  made  a  great 
mistake,  or  a  deliberate  misstatement.  I  most  hear 
tily  approve  of  the  memorial  as  it  stands.  No  one 
here  knows  the  subject  of  it  better  than  I  do.  I 
wish  to  sign  it,  and  in  case  all  other  means  fail,  I 
am  ready  to  go  to  the  Governor  and  beg  of  him  the 
life  of  Anna  Dever  Hammel." 

"Madam  President!"  said  Mrs.  Simcoe.  "I 
think  it  a  great  mistake  that  we  ever  touched  this 
subject.  I  fully  agree  with  Mrs.  Mason.  Crime 
obliterates  sex.  Mrs.  Hammel  has  had  a  fair  trial. 
She  had  the  services  of  two  good  lawyers,  before 
an  unprejudiced  judge,  and  the  jury  was  most  care 
fully  selected.  I'll  not  sign  the  memorial." 

"Madam  President!"  came  the  clear,  strong 
[216] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

voice  of  Dr.  Moss.  "The  one  great  reason  why 
the  recent  trial  of  Mrs.  Hammel  has  looked  to  me 
like  the  veriest  burlesque,  the  broadest  farce,  is 
that  the  law  expressly  provides  that  the  person  ac 
cused  shall  be  tried  by  a  jury  of  his  peers.  As  long 
as  the  pronoun  is  masculine,  it's  all  fair;  but  I  deny 
that  any  woman  in  the  United  States  was  ever  tried 
by  a  jury  of  her  peers.  Most  especially  was  not 
Mrs.  Hammel.  We  all  know  her.  We  know  what 
her  abilities  are,  both  natural  and  acquired.  We 
know  of  her  brilliant  intellect,  her  wit,  her  sound 
good  sense,  her  cultivated  judgment.  Add  to  this 
her  beauty,  and  she  has  but  few  peers  among  wom 
en,  while  she  shines  as  far  above  the  average  man 
as  a  star  is  beyond  the  power  of  the  frail  tallow 
dips  that  some  of  our  members  told  us  about  last 
spring.  I  only  hope  that  the  Governor  will  have 
the  sense  to  see  how  strong-minded  and  how  level 
headed  are  the  women  who  sign  this  memorial.  He 
would  have  no  trouble  in  seeing  us  clothed  in  all 
manner  of  womanly  excellences  if  we  were  voters." 

The  debate  went  on  for  an  hour,  and  many  bitter 
things  were  said  with  but  the  thinnest  pretence  of 
not  meaning  to  be  personal.  Anxious  as  she  was, 
Lois  wished  many  times  that  Mrs.  Hammel  could 
have  been  there  to  hear  the  discussion.  Such  a  let 
ter  as  she  could  have  made  of  it. 

As  the  meeting  adjourned,  and  the  members  took 
their  several  ways,  Lois  and  Laura  met  Philip  Hale 
[217] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

a  few  steps  from  the  door.  He  seemed  to  be  wait 
ing  for  them. 

"Come  with  me  to  see  Mrs.  Hammel,"  he  said. 
"Will  you  go,  too,  Mrs.  Drayton?" 

Laura  declined.  She  was  to  join  Dr.  Moss  and 
go  home  with  her  for  tea. 

"How  much  I  wish  poor  dear  Nan  could  have 
heard  the  discussion  to-day,"  Lois  said,  as  she  and 
Hale  walked  away  together.  "Much  of  it  would 
have  hurt  her,  but  she'd  have  dished  it  all  up  to 
gether  so  beautifully." 

"How  do  you  think  this  will  answer  the  purpose, 
when  translated?"  And  Hale  took  a  note-book 
from  his  coat  pocket  and  flipped  over  the  leaves, 
that  were  covered  with  shorthand  hieroglyphics. 

"Oh,  Phil! — how  did  you  get  it?"  And  Lois 
took  the  book  from  his  hands  and  turned  the  leaves. 
"I  know  but  little  of  shorthand,  but  enough  to  see 
that  this  is  a  full  report  of  the  debate.  How  did 
you  get  it?" 

"Mrs.  Milford  was  kind.  She  let  me  the  room 
above  the  parlor,  for  this  day  only.  There's  a 
register  there  that  gave  me  the  discussion  as  dis 
tinctly,  almost,  as  if  I  had  been  with  you.  Oh,  that 
Mrs.  Mason,  and  Mrs.  Simcoe !  What  half-made, 
heartless  things  they  are !  It's  laughable,  and  yet, 
to  hear  them  makes  me  wonder  what  civilization 
has  been  doing  all  these  ages." 

"How  did  you  ever  come  to  think  of  doing  this?" 
[218] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yesterday  I  was  talking  with  Mrs.  Hammel, 
and  she  said  she'd  like  so  much  to  have  the  min 
utes  of  to-day's  meeting  for  a  letter.  I  told  her  of 
my  expertness  in  shorthand,  and  as  I  felt  sure  I 
could  not  get  into  the  meeting,  or  if  I  did  get  in,  I'd 
be  an  extinguisher,  I  consulted  Mrs.  Milford.  She 
said  first  it  looked  a  trifle  traitorous,  but  she  con 
sidered  it  was  not  for  myself,  and  there  was  no 
great  amount  of  rhetoric  necessary.  She  came  to 
think  it  a  great  lark.  So  did  the  parson.  He  was 
with  me." 

"Mrs.  Mason  won't  like  to  be  reported  so  fully, 
I  know.  She  said  some  very  foolish  and  some  very 
merciless  and  unwomanly  things." 

"She  shouldn't  say  what  she  doesn't  want  report 
ed.  I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  call  down  the  register, 
'A  chiel's  amang  ye,  takin'  notes,  an'  faith  he'll 
prent  it.'  " 


[219] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  bright  winter  days  swept  on  too- swiftly  for 
the  anxious  ones  who  were  working  and  hoping 
for  the  release  of  Mrs.  Hammel.  The  prisoner 
herself,  to  those  who  saw  her  constantly,  bore  her 
situation  much  better  than  did  some  of  her  friends. 
She  was  constantly  occupied.  Her  guards  said  she 
was  always  busy:  reading,  writing,  drawing  illus 
trations  for  her  work.  She  was  not  allowed  sewing 
conveniences,  and  for  these  she  said  she  cared  but 
little,  excepting  as  a  change. 

Sheriff  Kimball  had  removed  the  solid  door  of 
her  cell,  and  replaced  it  with  one  made  of  bars. 
While  this  was  slightly  irregular,  he  said  it  would 
give  the  watchman  a  better  view  of  the  prisoner; 
and  she  was  in  all  ways  so  entirely  reasonable  there 
was  no  fear  of  trouble. 

It  was  only  in  the  letters  of  "Joan  Stone"  that 
the  condemned  one  showed  what  was  in  her  mind 
as  touching  her  situation.  In  these  letters  she  poured 
out  every  logical  reason  why  a  suspected  person 
should  not  suffer  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  on 
circumstantial  evidence.  She  told  of  all  the  limita- 
[  220  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

tions  and  the  disabilities  that  meet  a  woman  who 
is  so  bitterly  unfortunate  as  to  fall  under  suspicion. 
She  gave  vent  to  her  sensations,  her  dreams,  her 
thoughts  and  fancies  in  times  of  depression. 

In  these  letters  she  laid  bare  her  very  soul.  The 
world  should  have  what  it  had  never  had  before — 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  cultured,  gently-bred 
woman,  in  prison  awaiting  a  horrible  death.  Cir 
cumstances  had  entrapped  her.  Some  other  woman 
might  be  entrapped  in  the  same  way.  To  this  other 
woman,  or  to  a  hundred  women,  she  told  what  they 
would  suffer. 

It  was  a  few  days  before  the  beginning  of  that 
last  week  that  in  one  letter  was  said : 

"Does  this  look  like  weakness  ?  Will  it  be  taken 
as  an  evidence  of  guilt  to  say  that  sometimes  this 
horror  that  is  coming  to  me  is  likely  to  drive  me 
mad?  Death  in  itself  is  terrible.  Let  anyone,  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  health,  with  a  reasonable 
prospect  of  living  for  many  years,  suddenly  face 
death  only  in  thought.  You  who  are  young,  or  only 
middle-aged,  sometime,  when  you  lie  down  at  night, 
fancy  how  it  would  be  if  you  should  never  rise 
again.  Think  of  lying  straight  and  immovable, 
hands  folded,  light  and  air  shut  out  by  the  earth 
piled  above.  Think  you  are  dead,  or  will  be  before 
morning.  It  is  horrible !  But  the  relieving  thought 
forces  itself  upon  you :  I  shall  be  ill,  and  cared  for 
by  my  friends.  I  shall  lose  consciousness  gradu- 
[221  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ally.  Faces  of  loved  ones  will  grow  dim,  dimmer, 
and  at  last  darkness.  Sounds  will  grow  faint,  faint 
er,  then  silence,  rest,  peace.  But,  when  at  night  I 
lie  on  my  cot,  there  is  ever  present  the  thought  that, 
on  some  day,  very  soon  now,  men  will  come  into 
my  cell  to  take  me  out  and  kill  me.  I  can  fancy 
it  all.  They  will  look  at  me  as  a  woman  who  has 
done  such  a  monstrous  thing  as  to  be  unfit  to  live. 
They  will  stand  and  wait,  not  patiently,  but  stol 
idly,  for  me  to  rise,  perhaps  from  this  table  whereon 
I  write,  and  go  with  them,  out  through  the  door — 
somewhere,  I  do  not  know  where;  but  I  hope  it 
may  not  be  into  the  blessed  light  of  day.  An  act 
like  this  should  be  done  in  the  dark,  as  was  the 
other  murder. 

"If  I  should  be  told  that  some  night,  when  I  am 
asleep,  the  guard  is  to  come  in  and  shoot  me  to 
death,  my  horror  would  be  less,  the  ignominy  would 
seem  diminished.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  bear  that  any 
thing  shall  touch  my  neck,  especially  at  night.  It 
may  be  because  then  I  cannot  work,  or  read,  and 
keep  my  mind  occupied,  that  impressions  are  more 
vivid.  Even  when  I  sleep,  if  the  bed  coverings,  or 
the  collar  of  my  nightgown,  drags  loosely  against 
my  throat,  I  waken,  trembling  with  horror. 

"It  is  only  human  nature,  I  am  sure.  Human 
nature,  outraged,  is  capable  of  more  suffering  than 
can  ever  be  put  into  words.  Language  is  inade 
quate;  it  is  heavy,  unwieldy,  and  it  is  no  wonder 
[  222  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

that  so  often  the  human,  in  the  extreme  of  suffering, 
breaks  into  senseless  ravings.  But  how  one  can 
suffer  and  still  be  calm !  Old  Lear  understood  it 
when  he  curbed  his  thoughts  and  groaned:  'That 
way  madness  lies  !'  The  real  murderer  of  my  moth 
er  does  not  deserve  to  suffer  so.  A  man  who  could 
commit  such  a  deed  would  have  the  hardihood,  the 
general  make-up  to  bear  the  consequences.  The 
punishment  would  be  a  part  of  the  crime.  I  say  a 
man,  because  I  know  it  was  a  man  who  murdered 
my  mother.  If  asked  for  my  reason,  if  told  to  say 
how  I  know,  I  answer :  It  is  only  a  woman's  reason. 
I  know  because  I  know." 

This  letter  was  published  in  two  city  dailies,  one 
in  the  East,  the  other  in  the  West.  They  were  cop 
ied  far  and  near,  sometimes  entirely,  sometimes  in 
scraps  and  pickings. 

Public  sentiment  was  setting  so  strongly  in  favor 
of  the  prisoner,  Sheriff  Kimball  feared  there  might 
be  a  rescue  from  the  scaffold,  if  not  sooner.  His 
constant  hope  was  that  Judge  Hale  and  his  detec 
tive  would  discover  something — anything  to  relieve 
him  of  his  responsibility. 

His  mail  was  burdensome  with  letters  of  warn 
ing,  and  the  most  significant  fact  was,  these  letters 
now  were,  in  but  few  instances,  anonymous.  To 
these  he  paid  sufficient  attention  to  card  each  and 
every  one  of  the  Stillwater  newspapers,  as  well 
as  those  of  the  towns  and  cities  where  letters  were 
[  223  ] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

mailed,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  but  the  last  actor 
in  carrying  out  the  demands  of  the  law.  He  had 
not  set  the  great,  cruel  machine  in  motion.  It  was 
true,  as  some  of  his  correspondents  averred,  "he 
did  the  dirty  work,"  but  it  was  the  prosecuting  at 
torney,  the  grand  jury,  the  judge  on  the  bench,  the 
Governor  of  the  State,  who  cut  out  this  work  for 
him. 

The  people  who  were  threatening  the  sheriff  were 
advised  to  use  their  ammunition  for  bigger  game. 
Evidently  the  bigger  game  had  its  own  share  of  ob 
loquy.  Judge  Ainslee  and  Dan  Drayton  felt  more 
keenly  the  disapproval  of  the  general  public.  The 
jury  had  been  made  up  from  outside  towns,  and 
if  one  of  the  twelve  men  was  seen  on  the  streets  of 
Stillwater  he  was  made  to  feel  that  he  had  not  only 
done  a  stupid  thing,  but  a  wilfully  wicked  thing  as 
well. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  week  preceding  the  be 
ginning  of  the  last  one  for  Mrs.  Hammel.  Basil 
Drayton  was  just  entering  his  own  gate  when  Fran 
ces,  closely  veiled,  spoke  to  him : 

"Will  you  let  me  go  into  the  house  with  you?" 

"Surely!"  And  he  held  the  gate  open  for  her 
to  pass.  They  entered  the  house  together.  Laura 
met  them,  and  greeting  Frances  most  cordially,  put 
her  into  a  chair  before  the  fire  and  removed  her  hat. 
She  was  startled  by  the  change  in  the  face  of  her 
guest.  Frances  had  avoided  meeting  any  of  her 
[224] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

husband's  family  since  Dan  had  left  the  house.  The 
servant  had  strict  orders  to  admit  none  of  the  Dray- 
tons.  Now,  of  her  own  accord,  she  had  come  to 
Laura  and  Basil,  and  at  an  hour  when  she  knew 
they  would  both  be  at  home. 

"You  are  ill,"  Laura  said  tenderly.  "What  a 
shame  that  you've  kept  it  all  to  yourself !" 

"No!  no!  I'm  not  ill!  But — oh,  Laura!  oh, 
Basil !  I'm  so  miserable !  I'm  so  frightened !  Look 
at  these — every  day  they  come!  I  send  them  to 
Dan,  and,  after  reading,  he  sends  them  back  to  me. 
What  can  I  do?" 

She  took  a  parcel  of  letters  from  her  handbag 
and  let  them  fall  loosely  on  her  lap. 

Basil  picked  up  one  and  glanced  over  it. 

"Yes,  I  see.  Dan  has  shown  me  several,  and 
they  are  all  about  the  same  as  Kimball  and  Ainslee 
get.  You've  seen  Kimball's  cards  in  the  papers?" 

"Oh,  yes — and  poor  Mrs.  Kimball  is  nearly  out 
of  her  senses.  Oh,  that  miserable  woman !  I  wish 
she  had  stayed  away!  Of  course,  any  fool  would 
know  she  never  killed  her  mother,  but  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do  but  convict  her!" 

"Frances,"  Basil  said,  "there's  no  special  need 
of  your  worrying  about  this.  It's  going  to  work 
out  all  right.  Probably  you  know  that  Judge  Hale 
and  Detective  Peters  have  been  working  independ 
ently  on  the  case  for  some  time?" 
[225] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 


away." 

"Yes,  but  Phil  hears  from  his  father  every  day. 
The  last  news  was,  they're  sure  they're  on  the  track 
of  the  murderer,  and  if  they  don't  run  him  to  cover 
now  very  soon,  there'll  be  a  stay  of  proceedings. 
Really,  the  people  will  never  allow  this  execution 
to  take  place.  I'm  sure  of  it.  So  is  Kimball." 

"But,  you  see,  the  attitude  of  the  people  is  the 
worst  of  all.  Everybody  is  sure  she's  innocent;  and 
here's  Dan,  and  Judge  Ainslee,  and  Sheriff  Kimball 
being  accused  of  murdering  an  innocent  woman. 
You  see  how  these  letters  threaten  to  burn  the  house 
and  hang  Dan  by  the  light  of  it,  and — oh,  I  must 
go  away !  If  they  do  these  things,  I  don't  want  to 
be  hereto  see!" 

"But,  dear,"  Laura  said,  "this  will  surely  all  be 
settled  now  very  soon.  Mrs.  Hammel  will  be  re 
leased,  and  then,  of  course,  everything  will  be  right, 
and  pleasant  again." 

"Oh,  but  don't  you  see?  There's  no  place  for 
us  in  Stillwater,  even  if  Dan  should  ever  forgive 
me!"  And  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  sobbed. 

"There,  dear!  there,  dear!"    And  Laura  knelt 

beside  her  chair,  and,  clasping  her  in  her  arms, 

patted  her  shoulder  as  she  patted  and  soothed  Fred. 

"I'm  sure  Dan  will  forgive  anything  you've  said 

[226] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

or  done,  as  soon  as  he  knows  you  care  to  be  for 
given." 

"Of  course  he  will,  and  be  mighty  glad  to,"  Basil 
said  stoutly.  "But,  come — cheer  up,  Frank,  and 
have  some  dinner.  You're  worn  out  with  your  wor 
ries,  and  probably  haven't  eaten  anything  for  a 
week." 

Frances  wiped  her  eyes. 

"It  sounds  so  friendly  of  you  to  say  'Frank.'  ' 
and  she  looked  at  Basil  with  a  sickly  smile. 

"Does  it?  Now,  do  you  know,  I  like  it  immense 
ly.  Last  summer,  when  your  mother  was  here,  I 
meant  to  call  you  Frank,  but  no  one  else  did,  and  I 
thought  maybe  you  didn't  like  it." 

Under  the  stimulus  of  the  kindly  words  of  Basil 
and  Laura,  Frances  felt  much  of  her  burden  of 
apprehension  dropping  away.  When  dinner  was 
over,  Basil  said: 

"Now,  Frank,  I'm  going  to  see  how  Paul  is. 
I'll  go  by  your  place,  and  I'll  tell  your  handmaiden 
to  close  up  and  go  to  bed,  or  go  and  visit  some 
friend,  if  she  doesn't  like  to  remain  in  the  house 
alone.  You'll  stay  here  to-night." 

It  was  but  a  faint  protest  that  Frances  made  to 
this  proposal.  Of  a  truth,  she  was  a  very  lonely, 
repentant  woman. 


[227] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AT  the  door  of  his  father's  house  Basil  met  Dr. 
Mason. 

"How's  Paul?"  was  the  question,  without  an 
other  greeting. 

"Failing — failing.  I  never  in  my  life  saw  any 
thing  so  tragic,  so  sad,  so  horrible.  Of  a  'truth,  we 
are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  The  boy  is 
dying  through  his  sympathy.  But  go  in.  Your 
mother  needs  all  the  comforting  that  you  and  all 
of  us  can  give  her." 

It  was  a  sad  household  that  Basil  met  on  his 
daily  visits.  Paul  lay  on  a  couch  in  the  family 
room,  so  that  he  need  never  be  alone.  He  was  al 
lowed  as  little  time  as  possible  with  his  own 
thoughts.  Some  one  of  the  family,  or  some  friend, 
was  with  him  through  all  his  waking  hours,  and 
these  were  many.  He  slept  but  little,  excepting  by 
the  aid  of  quieting  potions.  His  mind  dwelt  con 
stantly  on  the  one  thing — Nan,  poor  Nan ! 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  divert  him  by  reading 
or  conversation.  He  would  interrupt  to  ask  if  it 
was  not  time  for  Phil  to  come;  and  when  he  came 
[228] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

without  encouraging  news  the  despair  of  the  in 
valid  was  heart-breaking. 

It  was  but  this  day  that  Mrs.  Drayton  had  de 
tained  Phil  in  the  hall  and  talked  over  the  feasi 
bility  of  making  good  news  when  he  had  none,  add 
ing: 

"Paul  will  not  be  with  us  many  days.  Let  him 
be  as  comfortable  as  possible." 

As  this  was  about  agreed  upon  Dr.  Mason  came 
in.  When  the  question  was  put  to  him  he  shook 
his  head. 

"It  won't  do  to  deceive  him.  He  might  rally. 
I  don't  say  that  he  would,  but  he  might,  and  only 
grow  strong  enough  to  realize  the  worst,  if  the 
worst  must  come,  and  then  he  would  perish  most 
miserably." 

So,  then,  the  idea  had  been  given  up,  and  the 
mother,  with  a  sigh,  resigned  herself  anew  to  watch 
ing  the  fading  away  of  this  blighted  life. 

She  told  this  to  Basil  before  he  saw  Paul.  When 
his  brother  entered  the  room  Paul  said: 

"Now  I  know  all  the  others  are  tired.  I  wish 
they'd  go  out  and  leave  us  alone  for  a  while.  I 
want  to  say  something  to  you." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  his  mother  said.  "Phil  and 
Lois,  run  away  to  the  parlor — father's  smoking  in 
the  dining-room.  I'll  go  and  talk  to  him." 

When  they  were  alone,  Paul  said,  and  his  voice 
was  low  and  eager,  while  the  spasms  in  the  slim 
[229  ] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

white  throat  came  with  cruel  strength  and  fre 
quency  : 

"You  know,  Basil,  I'm  afraid  Phil's  foolihg  me. 
I  don't  believe  his  father's  doing  anything  for  Nan. 
I  believe  he's  gone  East  instead  of  West." 

"No,  Paul,  you're  mistaken.  I  know — hasn't 
Phil  shown  you  his  father's  letters,  and  those  of 
Peter,  too?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  forgot." 

"Telegrams,  too,  he's  had,  and  I've  been  with 
him  when  he  got  them.  Yes,  they're  at  work,  and 
have  fair  prospects  of  catching  the  man.  Of  course 
they  think  it's  Jack,  but  we  hope  not.  There  must 
have  been  someone  to  help  him,  they  think,  because 
their  theory  is  that  Jack  probably  planned  it  all, 
but  was  too  ill  and  weak  to  open  the  door,  or  even 
to  strangle  Mrs.  Dever.  She  was  a  very  strong 
woman." 

Paul  lay  silent  a  minute,  with  closed  eyes.  Then : 

"But  if  they  don't  catch  the  man — if  it's  Jack, 
or  whoever  it  is — then,  of  course,  there's  no  help 
for  Nan,  and  that's  what  I  wanted  to  get  at.  You 
know  we've  heard  of  people  who  died  simply  by 
setting  a  time,  and  willing  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Don't  you  believe  Nan  could  do  that  if  she'd 
think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.     Perhaps  she  can  if 

[230] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

she  gives  up  all  hope,  which  I  don't  believe  she 
will." 

"But  she  must  give  up  hope  at  the  very  last, 
when  they  tell  her  on  what  day  and  about  what 
hour !  Oh,  Basil !  I've  tried  so  many  times  to  get 
up  and  go  to  her,  to  tell  her  to  do  this,  and  I've 
tried  to  write  it,  but  I'm  so  useless !  Why  couldn't 
I  have  been  strong,  like  you  and  Dan?" 

Basil  caught  his  breath  at  this  question.  Why, 
indeed? 

"I  want  you,  Basil,  to  go  to  Nan  and  remind  her 

that  she  can  prevent  Kimball Oh !"  And  the 

boy  clenched  his  bloodless  fingers  till  each  joint, 
each  single  bone,  stood  out,  and  showed  what  a 
mere  skeleton  he  was.  "How  will  he  dare  to  touch 
her?" 

"There,  Paul !    Don't  think  of  it." 

"Don't  think  of  it!  Why,  Basil,  what  are  you 
made  of?  Don't  you  think  of  it?" 

"Yes,  Paul,  yes!  I  think  of  it;  but  what  was  it 
you  wanted  me  to  do?" 

"Go  to  Nan  and  tell  her,  or  give  her  something 
of  the  kind  to  read;  there's  plenty  of  that  kind  of 
literature,  and  they  let  her  read  anything.  I  know 
she  could  do  it.  Don't  you  believe  it?  I've  tried 
to  talk  to  Phil  and  Lois  and  mother.  They  insist 
that  Nan  will  be  released.  Oh,  if  I  could  believe 
it!" 

"Why  not  believe  it,  Paul,  when  the  rest  of  us 
[231  ] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

do?  Now,  if  you  were  up,  and  well,  and  going 
about,  you'd  feel  different,  and  see  this,  as  well  as 
everything  else,  in  a  different  light.  You  know," 
and  Basil  made  believe  to  laugh,  "you  know  a  sick 
man's  opinion  isn't  usually  worth  much.  He  can't 
see  things  just  as  they  are.  His  own  distemper  up 
sets  everything.  Remember  a  couple  of  years  ago, 
when  the  bookkeeper  had  jaundice?  Yes?  He 
told  me  after  he  was  cured  that  he  thought  when 
he  was  ailing  that  we  were  putting  on  heaps  of  style, 
using  cream-tinted  stationery;  but  he  found  it  was 
all  in  his  eyes.  The  paper  and  the  books  bleached 
out  when  his  liver  got  down  to  honest  work  again. 
Now,  if  you'll  brace  up,  think  of  business,  and  try 
to  get  strong,  we'll  see  you  and  Nan  on  the  streets 
one  of  these  days,  and — up  to  all  sorts  of  larks." 

"Oh,  Basil!  Do  you  believe  it?"  And  Paul 
half  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

"I  know  it.  Why,  Nan's  as  cheerful  as  the  day 
is  long.  Nobody  catches  her  whimpering,  simply 
because  she  knows  there's  nothing,  really,  to  whim 
per  about.  I  went  with  Laura  yesterday  to  see  her." 

"Oh !  and  isn't  it  shameful  of  Governor  Long  to 
decline  to  interfere?  Isn't  that  a  good  way  to  put 
it? — as  if  he  was  not  in  the  least  responsible." 

"That's  all  right;  he  needn't  interfere.  We'll 
manage  the  matter  without  him;  and  if  ever  he 
wants  another  office,  even  so  small  as  that  of  road 
[232] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

supervisor,  we  voters  won't  interfere  with  the  other 
candidate." 

Paul  laughed,  and  Basil  continued :  "When  Nan 
was  told  his  decision,  she  said:  'Now,  mind  you, 
I'll  never  vote  for  him  as  long  as  I  live!'  * 

"Did  she?  Dear  little  Nan  I  How  I'd  like  to 
see  her!" 

"Yes,  and  she'd  like  to  see  you.  Why,  Paul, 
there  are  so  many  reasons  why  you  should  brace 
up  and  get  well.  You  were  talking  about  people 
dying  at  their  own  convenience.  Doesn't  it  strike 
you  that  people  can  live,  too,  if  they  see  fit  to  try? 
There's  nothing  the  matter  with  you — but  dumps, 
so  Dr.  Mason  says.  You  give  way  too  much  to 
your  sympathy  for  Nan.  Why,  boy,  if  every  man 
and  woman  in  Stillwater  should  allow  their  emo 
tion  in  this  affair  to  control  them,  there'd  be  a  howl 
ing  mob  rushing  through  every  street,  and  possibly 
that  old  jail  would  be  torn  down." 

Paul  listened  to  his  brother  and  a  calm  smile  of 
confidence  beamed  on  his  thin  face. 

"I  wish  they'd  do  it!" 

"Perhaps  they  would  if  they  were  hopeless;  but 
it's  best  to  stick  to  law  and  order — best  for  every 
body." 

"But,  Basil !  You'll  see  Nan,  and  tell  her  what 
I've  said?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I'll  talk  to  her  about  it;  but  I'm  sure 

[  233  ] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

she'll  make  fun  of  it — perhaps  put  it  into  her  next 
Tribune  letter." 

"Poor  girl !  I'm  afraid  she  won't  write  many 
more  letters."  And  again  Paul  was  despondent, 
and  sank  into  his  pillows. 

"Yes,  she  will  write  many  more  letters."  But 
Basil  saw  that  Paul  was  too  weak  to  show  more 
than  the  merest  flashes  of  courage  and  hopefulness. 
Still  he  sat  by  him,  and  presently  he  held  the  thin 
hands  in  his  own,  and  continued  to  talk,  first  about 
Mrs.  Hammel,  then  gradually  branching  out  upon 
other  subjects.  By  and  by  he  was  quoting  market 
reports,  railroad,  steamship,  and  telegraph  news,' 
and  the  doings  of  Congress.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
steadily  on  those  of  his  brother,  and  held  his  hands 
in  a  close  clasp.  The  soft  monotony  of  his  voice 
had  a  soothing  effect,  and  within  a  half  hour  the 
veined  eyelids  closed,  and  the  regular  breathing  told 
that  he  had  charmed  the  invalid  into  a  natural,  rest 
ful  sleep. 


[234] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

NEXT  day,  Laura  prevailed  upon  Frances  to  go 
with  her  to  the  home  of  their  mother-in-law.  Fran 
ces  was  frightened  at  the  tone  of  the  letters  sent 
to  Dan,  and,  after  her  weeks  of  loneliness,  she 
found  kindliness,  sympathy,  shelter,  where  there 
was  assured  safety,  too  good  and  pleasant  to  relin 
quish. 

Lois  met  the  two  at  the  door,  and  took  them 
into  the  parlor,  saying  that  Paul  was  asleep.  Real 
ly,  she  did  not  mean  to  disturb  him  by  the  sight  of 
Frances,  and  she  feared  the  sound  of  an  unaccus 
tomed  voice  would  waken  him. 

Presently,  Mrs.  Drayton  came  in,  and  greeted 
her  daughters-in-law  with  friendly  warmth.  Fran 
ces  was  startled  to  see  how  thin  and  worn  she  had 
grown.  Laura  and  Lois  left  the  room  to  sit  near 
Paul,  and  Frances  and  Mrs.  Drayton  were  left 
together  before  the  fire,  and  they  talked  over  the 
sad  state  of  affairs,  Frances  laying  great  stress  upon 
her  fear  of  what  was  going  to  happen  to  Dan  and 
their  home. 

"I  stayed  at  Laura's  last  night,  but  I  can't  stay 
there  all  the  time,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

[235] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"My  dear  girl,  you  are  welcome  to  come  here 
and  stay — but  why  not  go  to  the  hotel  and  ask  Dan 
to  go  home?" 

"I'll  never  do  that!"  Frances  flashed  in  answer. 
"He  left  the  house — not  without  some  provocation, 
I'll  admit — but  I  was  provoked  first.  You  folks 
have  not  treated  me  right — never  since  I  came 
here!" 

"You  surely  have  misunderstood  us,  Frances. 
We  meant  to  receive  and  treat  you  as  a  daughter, 
and  a  sister.  If  we  have  failed,  I  am  deeply  sorry." 

"You  won't  deny  that  you  blame  me  for  the  part 
Dan  has  taken  in  this  trial?" 

"No,  I'll  not  deny  that.  You  know  it  was  your 
influence  that  put  him  in  the  office  of  prosecutor; 
and  you  used  your  influence  against  the  known 
wishes  of  the  whole  family.  You  know  all  this  is 
true?" 

"Why  shouldn't  a  woman  wish  to  stand  first  in 
influence  with  her  husband?" 

"No  reason  in  the  world  why  a  woman  should 
not  wish  to  be  first  with  her  husband  always,  and 
in  everything.  But  if  a  woman  makes  a  mistake, 
if  she  insists  on  being  first,  to  the  detriment  of  her 
husband,  then  she  should,  if  possible,  undo  her 
work.  A  year  ago  I  could  not  have  imagined  such 
a  division  in  my  family  as  there  is  now.  You  need 
not  be  told  who  is  responsible  for  it." 
[236] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"If  that  Mrs.  Hammel  had  stayed  away,  there'd 
'a'  been  no  trouble  1"  And  Frances  cried  weakly. 

"That's  childish!  Mrs.  Hammel  was  likely  to 
come  home  at  any  time,  as  was  most  natural.  If 
you  had  used  your  persuasion  with  the  rest  of  the 
family,  or  even  stood  neutral,  not  opposing  us,  Dan 
would  have  been  in  the  State  Legislature  for  the 
term  about  to  open;  and  if  this  same  trouble  had 
come,  as  it  surely  would,  he  would  not  be  in  his 
present  position — his  home  deserted,  his  business 
ruined,  and  even  his  life  threatened.  You  can  see 
for  yourself  that  what  I  say  is  true.  You  have 
been  on  the  defensive  ever  since  you  came  to  us, 
the  next  day  after  your  wedding.  That  you've  had 
any  good  reason  for  your  behavior,  I've  never  been 
able  to  discover.  You  cannot  have  supposed  that 
any  of  Dan's  family  wished  him  and  you  anything 
but  prosperity  and  happiness?" 

"No,  I  didn't  suppose  that." 

"You  might  have  been  sure  that  we,  who  had 
cared  for  him  all  his  life,  certainly  knew  something 
of  his  capabilities,  and  might  be  trusted  to  still 
advise  him — a  little." 

"Of  course,  if  I  had  thought  of  it  in  that  way; 
but  I  was  jealous  of  your  relationship  to  him,  and 

— you  ought  to  know  why You've  seen  my 

mother — she's  not  like  you — and  I  feared  that  Dan 

might  grow  to  despise  me  if  I  didn't  lead  him  away 

[237] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

from  his  own  people  in  a  measure.  And  you  said 
a  very  severe  thing  of  me  to  Judge  Ainslee." 

"Yes,  I  did;  but  see  what  you  have  done !  And 
now  I  know  that  your  mischief  is  greater,  more  far- 
reaching,  than  I  dreamed  it  at  that  time.  I  admit 
that  I  spoke  hastily  to  Judge  Ainslee,  but  if  it  had 
not  been  for  your  continual  presence  in  the  court 
room,  and  your  unceasing  nagging  at  home,  that 
trial  would  have  taken  a  different  turn.  You've 
been  a  cruel,  relentless  woman.  I  fear  you've 
brought  ruin  of  one  sort  to  Mrs.  Hammel,  of  an 
other  sort  to  yourself,  and  great  sorrow  to  me." 

"How  do  you  know  what  I  said  at  home?  Has 
Dan  told  you?" 

"No,  Dan  has  not  told  me,  but  he  has  talked 
to  Basil,  and  you've  been  imprudent  before  your 
servant.  Your  quarrels  with  Dan,  and  your  insinu 
ations  about  Mrs.  Hammel,  are  common  gossip  in 
the  town.  You  lay  great  stress  upon  some  things 
for  which  I  and  my  family  care  but  little.  You 
sum  up  your  ideas  of  success  in  life  in  the  one  word 
'swell.'  This,  as  I  understand  you,  is  to  make  a 
fine  appearance — to  dazzle  your  acquaintances  by 
a  show  of  your  possessions.  I  cannot  imagine  my 
self  caring  to  create  a  sensation  of  this  kind;  and 
there  is  one  thing  you  must  learn,  if  you  wish  for 
the  respect  of  those  who  serve  you,  and  those  who 
associate  with  your  servants,  and  that  is  to  pre 
vent  quarreling  with  your  husband,  and  refrain 
[238] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

from  criticising  your  husband's  relations  in  their 
presence." 

Frances  made  no  answer.  She  was  completely 
broken  down.  All  her  little,  mean,  spiteful  sins 
had  found  her  out.  She  who  had  come  to  Still- 
water  only  a  year  ago,  so  full  of  ambition,  so  re 
solved  to  make  the  most  of  her  good  fortune  in 
marrying  above  her  station,  so  sure  that  her  experi 
ence  amongst  a  few  educated  people  would  aid  her 
in  setting  the  pace  for  Stillwater's  best  society,  could 
not  but  feel  deeply  humiliated  at  her  utter  fail 
ure. 

As  she  reviewed  the  past  year  she  could  see  that, 
with  the  exception  of  Lois,  not  one  of  the  family 
had  ever  resented  one  sharp  or  slighting  word  of 
her  own;  and  now,  as  never  before,  she  could  see 
why.  It  had  not  been  worth  while.  The  father 
and  mother,  Basil  and  Laura,  even  sickly  Paul,  had 
set  it  all  down  to  her  lack  of  culture,  her  want  of 
home  training,  her  ignorance  of  the  common  civili 
ties  of  family  life.  She  was  brusque  and  quarrel 
some  because  she  was  common.  She  had  passed 
her  youth  in  private  schools,  where  the  hand  of 
every  girl  is  against  every  other,  and  where  there 
is  constant  watchfulness  that  no  undue  advantages 
be  taken.  She  began  to  see  the  truth,  as  in  a  glass 
darkly. 

But,  she  debated  with  herself,  what  else  could 
she  have  done?  She  could  not  have  remained  at 
[239] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

home,  where  there  was  little  to  do,  and  many  to 
keep  ?  If  she  had,  what  outlook  would  there  have 
been  for  her?  None  at  all.  But  as  she  sat  alone 
while  Mrs.  Drayton  received  Dr.  Mason,  she  ac 
knowledged  that  she  might  have  passed  her  vaca 
tions  at  home  instead  of  visiting  amongst  people 
who  were  in  better  circumstances  than  were  her 
own.  She  might  have  used  the  money  that  went 
for  dress  during  these  visits  in  brightening  the  shab 
by  little  house  where  her  parents  and  sisters  lived. 
She  might  have  taught  her  sisters  some  of  the  things 
she  read  in  books,  and  some  of  the  ways  of 
the  world  in  which  she  lived.  She  might  have  awak 
ened  in  the  three  girls  some  ideas  of  bettering  them 
selves  by  education,  mentally,  morally,  physically, 
instead  of  leaving  them  in  their  ignorance,  to  stare 
at  her  and  say,  "Frank's  so  swell!" 

She  knew  girl  teachers  who  had  done  all  these 
things  for  homes  as  poor  as  her  own ;  and  now  she 
could  see  how  the  really  high-grade  people  regarded 
such  things.  She  had  thought  only  of  herself,  of 
her  own  advancement  and  comfort  in  life.  She 
had  never  dreamed  of  her  illiterate  mother,  her  un 
trained  sisters  venturing  upon  the  scene  of  her  good 
fortune,  for  it  was  good  fortune.  Had  not  her 
ambition  been  gratified  ?  Had  she  not  married  into 
a  good  family?  Had  she  not  a  pretty,  tasteful 
home  ?  Much  better,  her  mother  declared  over  and 
over,  than  she  ever  had  any  right  to  expect. 
[240] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

Why  should  she  not  be  happy  and  satisfied  ?  Why 
was  she  sitting  here  at  the  parlor  window  of  her 
husband's  home,  something  like  an  outlaw?  She 
looked  out  over  the  snowy  lawn  through  blinding 
tears.  She  wondered  if  Mrs.  Hammel  was  more 
miserable  than  she.  True,  Mrs.  Hammel  was  un 
der  sentence  to  die,  but  see  with  what  composure, 
what  spirit,  she  carried  her  great  calamity!  No 
body  now  believed  in  her  guilt;  she  was  respected, 
commiserated,  pitied,  loved,  by  all  who  knew  her, 
and  by  thousands  of  people  who  were  strangers  to 
her  save  through  the  press.  Her  position  was  dig 
nified,  while  Frances  owned,  with  burning  cheeks, 
her  own  was  one  of  contempt.  She  was  stared  at 
curiously  when  she  went  on  the  street.  People 
nudged  each  other  and  whispered:  "There's  Dan 
Drayton's  wife !  He's  left  her.  He's  living  at 
the  Stillwater  Hotel." 

More  than  once  she  had  heard  these  words,  and 
others  of  like  meaning.  Scores  of  times  she  had 
seen  in  the  faces  of  people  she  knew  but  slightly 
more  than  any  words  could  express. 

When  Mrs.  Drayton  returned  to  the  parlor  she 
came  directly  to  Frances,  and,  laying  her  arms 
about  her  shoulders,  said: 

"Dear,  believe  me,  I'm  sorry  for  you.     I  wish 

I  could  clear  away  all  your  troubles;  and,  more 

than  all,  I  wish  I  could  reconcile  you  and  Dan  to 

each  other.     No  misfortune  can  come  to  us  equal 

[241] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

to  a  quarrel,  or  a  misunderstanding,  with  those  we 
love.  Can't  I  prevail  upon  you  to  go  and  see  Dan, 
or  write  and  ask  him  to  come  home?" 

"When  he  went  away  he  told  me  to  select  coun 
sel  to  speak  to  him,  and  he's  sent  word  to  me  sev 
eral  times  by  Philip." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  see  Phil's  one  of  the  family. 
Now  do  you  follow  suit.  Let  me  carry  a  message 
for  you.  Let  me  be  your  counsellor — and  I'll  tell 
Dan  so.  Within  a  week  or  so  will  be  your  wedding 
anniversary.  Phil's  here  now  with  his  latest  news 
from  his  father.  I'll  tell  him  to  stay  for  dinner. 
I've  been  in  the  house  too  closely  lately.  Let  us  go 
together  and  find  Dan,  or,  if  you'd  rather,  I'll  go 
as  your  counsel,  since  he  so  desired."  And  Mrs. 
Drayton's  wan  face  looked  smilingly  into  that  of 
Frances,  so  tear-stained  and  troubled. 

She  could  not  at  once  consent,  but  the  loving 
counsel  of  Mrs.  Drayton  prevailed,  and  Frances 
went  to  her  room,  bathed  and  powdered  her  face, 
and  they  left  the  house  together. 

By  and  by,  at  the  crossing  of  two  streets,  they 
separated,  after  a  most  earnest  conversation,  and 
Frances  called  after  Mrs.  Drayton:  "If  you  fail, 
please  come  and  tell  me." 

To  which  Mrs.  Drayton  answered :  "Yes ;  but  I 
won't  fail." 

In   the   early  winter   twilight   Dan    Drayton's 
C  242] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

neighbors  saw  him  and  his  mother  coming  up  the 
street,  talking  busily.  They  entered  the  gate,  went 
up  the  walk,  and  then,  Dan  let  himself  into  the 
house  with  his  latch-key,  as  usual.  These  same 
neighbors  averred  that  there  must  have  been  some 
arrangements  made  beforehand,  as,  a  little  later, 
Mr.  Drayton,  Senior,  came,  and,  after  a  few  min 
utes  in  the  house,  he  and  his  wife  went  away  to 
gether. 

More  than  this,  Dan  was  seen  leaving  the  house 
next  morning  at  about  the  usual  time  of  his  going 
to  business. 

So  this  family  quarrel  was  patched  over,  and  the 
eager,  insatiable  public  was  at  liberty  to  turn  from 
the  comedy  to  the  tragedy  that  would  be  finished 
now  very  soon. 


[  243  ] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  watchers  who  saw  Dan  Drayton  leave  his 
own  house  on  that  morning  could  not  fail  to  see  the 
change  that  had  grown  upon  him  within  the  last 
few  weeks.  He  was  not  the  blithe  bridegroom  who 
had  set  up  his  home  amongst  them  less  than  a  year 
before.  He  did  not  carry  his  head  now,  as  then,  as 
if  he  challenged  the  whole  world  to  produce  a  more 
fortunate  and  a  better  satisfied  man  than  himself. 

He  walked  slowly,  his  eyes  cast  down,  and  an 
swered  shortly  any  greetings  that  were  offered.  It 
was  not  supposed  for  one  moment  by  Dan's  neigh 
bors  that  he  was  grieving  now,  or  had  ever  grieved, 
over  the  temporary  estrangement  between  himself 
and  his  wife.  Those  who  knew  him  best,  knew  best 
how  great  a  mistake  he  had  made  in  the  selection 
of  an  office  in  the  political  field,  and  of  all  these, 
Uncle  Zeke  summed  up  the  matter  about  as  cor 
rectly  as  anyone. 

He  said  to  Cleopatry:    "Now,  min'  what  I  tell 

yo' !     Mistah  Dan's  boun'  t'  come  out  all  right 

bime  by.     Lots  times  yo'  see  w'ite  co'n  dat's  be'n 

planted  clos'  by  some  o'  dat  speckled  popco'n,  or  de 

[  244  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

r'al  ol'-fashioned  yaller  co'n,  an'  hit  turns  out  pa't 
w'ite,  pa't  yaller,  an'  pa't  speckled.  'Tain't  no 
'count,  'ceptin'  to  feed  de  hogs.  But  nex'  yeah, 
yo'  take  de  bes'  o'  hit  an'  plant  hit  all  to  itse'f,  an' 
yo'-all  see  hit  grows  mo'  and  mo'  w'at  de  good 
Laud  made  hit  to  be." 

"Ya'as," Cleopatra  answered, "but  yo'  seeMistah 
Dan  he  done  planted  hisse'f  by  de  speckled  co'n  his 
own  se'f,  an'  dey  ain't  no  chanct  fo'  him  to  done  git 
planted  ag'in;  an'  de  Laud  made  de  speckled  co'n 
all  same  lak  de  w'ite  an'  de  yaller,  an'  He  neber 
'lowed  dem  to  mix  deyse'fs."  . 

"Now,  Cleopatry,  listen  t'  me !  Don'  yo'  know 
dat  if  yo'  plant  de  speckled  co'n  des  yeah  in  an'  yeah 
out  wid  de  w'ite  co'n,  it'll  done  git  w'ite,  too?  Now 
yo'  min'  w'at  I  say." 

Cleopatra  sniffed  and  said  nothing;  but,  remem 
bering  all  the  kindness  that  she  and  her  family  had 
received  from  the  Drayton  family,  her  thought 
was:  "P'raps  dat  low-down  Frances  git  growed 
out  o'  huh  speckles  bime  by." 

When  this  lowly  family  knelt  for  prayers  in  their 
own  pleasant  sitting-room,  that  opened  from  the 
kitchen,  Zeke  never  failed  to  offer  a  special  peti 
tion  for  "Po'  Miss  Nan."  It  was  on  the  last  Sat 
urday  night  that  she  would  live,  if  Judge  Ainslee's 
sentence  was  carried  out,  that  Mrs.  Drayton,  on 
an  errand  to  the  kitchen,  heard  him  beseeching  the 
"Good  Laud  to  sen'  down  de  biggest  sto'm  he  had 

[245] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

in  de  shop.  Make  hit  snow  an'  rain  an'  hail  an' 
freeze  all  togeddah,  so  dat  man  Kimball  kain't  set 
up  no  saplin's  no  place.  Des  let  de  sto'm  howl  an' 
kiveh  up  dis  town  so's  nobody  kain't  git  out,  no' 
in,  an'  keep  Miss  Nan  safe  till  dat  'tection  man 
done  fin'  out  who's  de  right  pusson  to  swing." 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  old  servant's  petition,  Sun 
day  came  in  a  raging  storm.  In  the  beginning  it 
was  difficult  to  say  if  it  was  snow  or  rain ;  but  the 
air  grew  colder,  the  wind  rose,  and  something  like 
a  blizzard  swept  over  the  country.  Through  the 
storm  the  church  bells  sounded  muffled,  and  the 
high,  swift  winds  carried  the  sounds  hither  and 
thither.  Very  few  people  in  Stillwater  answered 
the  summons  to  attend  service.  Most  of  those  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  going  felt  glad  of  a  good  rea 
son  for  staying  indoors.  Hearts  were  sick  and  faint 
because  of  the  nearness  of  the  horror  set  for  the 
coming  week.  They  hoped,  and  yet  feared,  a  res 
cue  by  the  people.  But  it  was  still  somewhere  in 
the  next  week.  Something  might  happen.  At  all 
events,  it  was  a  relief  that  for  one  day  they  might 
stay  within  closed  doors.  There  was  a  respite  from 
the  empty  repetition  of,  "Well,  the  time  is  nearly 
over.  Wonder  how  she  will  bear  it  at  the  last;" 
or  "Have  you  heard  from  Paul  Drayton  to-day? 
It'll  be  a  blessing  if  he  dies  first." 

Still  there  were  those  who  felt  a  great  curiosity 
as  to  what  the  several  preachers  in  the  town  would 
[246] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

say  on  this  last  Sunday  before  the  execution,  and 
how  they  would  pray  for  the  condemned. 

It  was  known  that  Dr.  Milford  had  frequently 
visited  Mrs.  Hammel,  and  it  was  also  known  that 
there  were  none  of  the  usual  accompaniments  in 
these  visits.  There  were  no  readings  of  the  Scrip 
tures,  no  prayers — nothing  but  such  talk  as  any 
man  and  woman,  meeting  under  the  most  ordinary 
circumstances,  might  indulge  in.  This  was  not  won 
dered  at  by  those  who  knew  the  prisoner's  mental 
attitude.  With  her  very  best  friends — those  who 
visited  her  most  frequently — she  permitted  no  con 
versation  about  her  position  and  her  prospects.  This 
she  said  was  a  subject  she  reserved  for  her  lawyers. 
She  said,  too,  that  when  she  was  unavoidably  alone, 
she  must,  perforce,  think  of  herself;  then  she  put 
all  she  had  to  say  into  her  newspaper  letters.  When 
friends  came  to  see  her,  she  wished  to  talk  of  some 
thing  pleasant;  to  forget,  or  to  play  she  forgot,  her 
surroundings. 

On  this  stormy  Sunday  Mrs.  Kimball  came  and 
sat  with  her  for  an  hour.  The  two  were  wholly 
different,  excepting  in  the  mere  essentials  of  human 
ity.  They  had  known  each  other  slightly  as  girls, 
but  had  never  been  friends;  and  Mrs.  Hammel  was 
sufficiently  daring  to  put  into  a  letter  the  guess  that 
the  sheriff's  wife  kept  constantly  in  mind  the  differ 
ence  there  used  to  be  in  their  positions,  and,  com 
paring  this  with  the  difference  existing  at  the  time 
[247] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

of  her  visit,  the  writer  guessed  further,  that  by  the 
expression  of  the  woman's  face  she  was  puzzled  by 
this  dispensation  of  Providence. 

The  letter  written  that  Sunday  night,  while  the 
storm  howled  and  raged  around  her  prison,  was 
one  that  was  wondered  at  more  than  all  that  had 
gone  ^before.  At  its  close  it  seemed  to  the  reader 
that  it  could  not  be  possible  that  a  woman  under 
sentence  of  death  could  have  written  it.  She  said  at 
the  last  of  the  two  columns : 

"This  is  like  the  note  that  runaway  girls  leave 
on  the  pincushion :  when  you  read  it  I  shall  be  far 
away.  I'll  write  again,  if  I  have  time;  but  I  think 
Mr.  Kimball  will  call  to-morrow  and  tell  me  all 
about  it.  Judge  Hale  has  returned,  without  his  de 
tective,  and  without  a  substitute  for  me." 

Thoughtful  people  who  read  this  letter  shud 
dered,  knowing  that  the  writer  was  on  the  verge 
of  hysteria,  if  not  insanity.  Because  of  the  storm 
she  had  but  few  callers,  and  these  reported,  "It  is 
simply  wonderful,  the  way  she  keeps  up." 

Once  she  said,  and  it  was  to  Basil  Drayton  she 
said  it:  "I  hope  it  will  keep  on  storming  till — it's 
all  over.  It's  only  fit  that  if  there's  a  blundering 
intelligence  running  this  world,  there  should  be 
some  attempt  at  congruity  in  the  winding  up  of  the 
mistakes.  There  ought  to  be  at  least  a  proper  stage 
setting." 

In  mentioning  this  to  Laura,  Basil  said  he 
[248] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

laughed;  if  he  had  not  done  that  he  would  have 
raved  like  a  maniac. 

He  said  to  Mrs.  Hammel : 

"If  it  storms  until  you  are  through  with  this 
world,  we'll  have  a  long  spell  of  bad  weather.  As 
Uncle  Zeke  would  say,  'Now,  min'  w'at  I  tell  you- 
all!'" 

From  the  prison,  Basil  went  to  see  Paul.  He 
was  very  low,  scarcely  speaking  above  his  breath. 
When  he  tried  to  rally  the  feeble  boy,  the  mother 
shook  her  head,  and  slow  tears  welled  from  her 
eyes.  Later  she  said:  "Please  let  him  go.  Let 
him  drift  out  of  life  before  Nan  goes." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when,  like 
a  part  of  the  storm,  Philip  Hale  and  his  father 
came  up  the  walk.  Lois  threw  open  the  door  and 
let  them  into  the  hall. 

"Oh,  you've  come  back!"  she  cried,  as  she 
grasped  the  old  lawyer's  arm.  "You've  come,  and 
there's  no  hope  for  Nan!" 

He  stooped  and  brushed  her  cheek  with  his  damp 
gray  moustache,  then  whispered : 

"Yes,  there's  hope  for  poor  Nan.  If  that  vaga 
bond,  Hammel,  doesn't  perish  in  the  storm,  Peters 
will  have  him.  Ah !  such  a  dance  as  he's  led  us !" 

Then,  in  the  room  with  the  family,  Judge  Hale 
recounted  what  they  did  not  already  know  of  the 
man-hunt  he  had  been  engaged  in.  In  finishing  his 
story  he  said: 

[  249  ] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Of  course,  we've  had  no  glimpse  of  the  man, 
but  the  very  fact  that  he's  been  in  hiding,  and  that 
his  own  people,  as  far  as  we  can  discover,  have 
known  that  he  was  in  hiding,  is  about  as  much  evi 
dence  as  we  need.  Of  course,  a  confession,  or  at 
least  a  surrender,  with  the  chance  to  prove  inno 
cence,  would  be  better.  But  the  fellow's  on  his 
last  legs,  and  I  fully  believe  that  his  own  people 
have  been  hoping  he  would  die,  and  so  pass  beyond 
the  law,  even  if  this  poor  girl  be  left  to  swing  in 
his  place." 

"I  wonder,  now,  if  Anna  has  ever  thought  of 
making  a  will,"  Basil  said.  "If  she  has  not,  and 
if  the  worst  should  possibly  come,  there'd  be  some 
grabbing  for  her  estate.  You  see,  she's  quite  weal 
thy  since  her  mother's  death,  and  she  has  no  rela 
tions  that  she  knows  of,  excepting  the  Hammels. 
Of  course  Jack  could  claim  everything." 

"Yes;  but  I  sincerely  hope  Peters  will  trap  the 
scamp — and  get  him  here  alive.  How  he  has  see 
sawed,  and  doubled  upon  us,  time  after  time.  Only 
yesterday,  when  we  thought  we  had  our  fingers 
upon  him,  he  gave  us  the  slip.  This  storm  was  on 
its  way  from  the  Northwest,  and  I  didn't  like  the 
prospect  of  being  snowed  in  in  a  little  country  town ; 
so  I  left  Peters,  and  came  here,  arriving  at  one 
o'clock  this  morning,  just  in  the  van  of  the  storm." 

"Do  you  think  Hammel  was  the  principal  in  the 
murder?"  Mr.  Drayton  asked. 
[  250] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes ;  at  least  he  did  the  planning.  Whether  he 
really  did  the  final  act,  I've  not  decided.  The  leav 
ing  of  the  keys  may  have  been  an  accident,  as  it 
may  have  been  done  to  mislead,  and  place  the  blame 
where  it  now  rests." 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible,"  Basil  said,  "that  Jack 
could  be  such  a  double  villain." 

"One  never  knows,"  Judge  Hale  answered, 
"what  a  fellow  will  do  to  save  his  own  neck  from 
the  noose.  Ah  !  I  long  to  hear  from  Peters.  I  was 
completely  fagged  out;  and  now  that  I  have  seen 
you,  I'll  go  to  the  hotel  and  rest." 

Paul  had  roused  himself  to  listen,  and  for  a  while 
he  was  brighter  than  he  had  been  for  a  day  or  two; 
but  his  spirits  sank  again  after  the  two  visitors  had 
gone  away.  His  feeble  system  had  received  such  a 
shock  that  it  was  fairly  paralyzed.  There  was  noth 
ing  to  build  upon;  no  leaven  of  strength  to  quicken 
the  faint  spark  of  life  in  the  frail  body. 

Those  who  watched  with  him  through  that  night 
of  storm  feared  that  he  would  pass  away  before 
morning.  He  slept  but  little,  and  that  only  by  the 
merest  snatches.  His  talk  was  all  of  the  coming 
execution,  and  the  hope  that  Mrs.  Hammel  would 
die  of  her  own  will  before  the  law  could  desecrate 
her  person.  He  seemed  to  forget  Judge  Hale's  visit 
and  his  hopes,  his  assurances  of,  if  not  an  immediate 
release,  at  least  a  stay,  a  delay  of  the  carrying  out 
of  the  sentence.  Sometimes  his  mind  wandered, 
[251] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

and  he  forgot  the  present.  He  was  again  a  little 
child  playing  with  other  children,  and  always  with 
"Pretty  Nan." 


[252] 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

WHEN  morning  came  the  storm  was,  if  possible, 
more  furious  than  it  had  been  the  night  before. 
Streets  were  impassable;  schools  were  closed,  at 
least  neither  teachers  nor  pupils  reached  the  build 
ings,  and  the  janitors  held  holiday.  Business,  save 
for  the  meager  distribution  of  food  stuffs,  was  at 
a  standstill.  Many  of  the  dry  goods,  music,  pic 
ture,  and  fancy  stores,  remained  closed  simply  be 
cause  it  was  considered  foolhardy  to  face  the  bliz 
zard. 

It  was  known  on  Sunday  that  Judge  Hale  had 
arrived  at  the  Stillwater  House  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  before,  and  that  he  had  come  without 
Peters.  It  was  known,  too,  that  Philip  had  been 
to  the  prison  to  see  Mrs.  Hammel,  and  had  been 
fairly  exuberant  in  his  interview,  and  that  she,  while 
agitated  visibly,  had  exhibited  no  gladness,  had  fre 
quently  shaken  her  head,  while  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

The  guard  reported  to  the  sheriff  and  his  wife 
that  the  prisoner  had  not  slept  at  all ;  had  not  even 
undressed  all  night,  but  that  she  had  walked  the 
floor,  or  sat  in  her  chair,  all  night  long. 

[253] 


IN   THE    FIRST    DEGREE 

"Perhaps,"  the  man  said,  "she's  a  mind  to  wear 
herself  out  so  the  last  won't  be  so  much,  after  all." 

Kimball  said  nothing.  He  was  haggard,  and 
looked  as  if  he,  too,  had  passed  a  bad  night. 

The  guard  who  came  on  duty  in  the  morning  told 
Mrs.  Kimball  that  Mrs.  Hammel  ate  her  breakfast 
slowly,  and  read  a  two-days-old  city  paper  as  she 
ate.  There  had  been  no  trains  into  or  out  of  Still- 
water  since  Sunday  morning  at  three  o'clock.  When 
this  news  of  the  storm  and  other  of  like  nature  fil 
tered  from  the  outside  world  into  the  family  rooms 
of  Uncle  Zeke,  that  faithful  one  exclaimed :  "T'ank 
de  good  Laud !  He  done  hyar  me  dis  time,  an'  ef 
on'y  He  keep  on,  an'  des  stan'  dese  folks  dat  want 
fo'  t'  hu't  Miss  Nan  on  dey  haids,  Fse  willin'  t' 
nevah  ask  any  mo'  favo's  ob  Him.  I'se  done  sat 
isfied."  And  Cleo  looked  at  her  "ole  man"  with 
tears  in  her  admiring  eyes. 

Sheriff  Kimball  sat  in  his  office  alone.  It  was  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon,  and  the  storm  still  raged. 
He,  like  Zeke,  felt  something  of  satisfaction  in  the 
blizzard.  Surely,  it  was  no  time  for  action ;  no  time 
to  arrange  any  of  the  preliminaries  for  this  bar 
barous  work.  He  told  himself  that  even  if  it  was 
a  man,  and  there  was  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,  there 
was  no  reason  for  hurry.  He  had  all  the  week, 
or  at  least  five  and  a  half  days,  in  which  to  fulfil 
the  law. 

[254] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

He  sat  facing  the  window,  that  showed  only 
swirling  clouds  of  snow.  His  back  was  to  the  door 
that  opened  on  the  street.  He  heard  a  fumbling 
of  the  latch,  then  felt  a  blast  of  icy  air,  and  the 
papers  on  the  desk  near  him  were  lifted  in  disorder. 
His  first  thought  was  to  curse  the  intruder.  He 
wanted  to  see  nobody;  but,  before  he  could  utter 
a  word,  before  he  turned  to  greet,  in  some  fashion, 
his  visitor,  there  was  the  sound  of  a  heavy  body 
falling  to  the  floor,  and  the  wind  swept  all  about 
the  room.  Then  the  sheriff  sprang  from  his  chair, 
to  see  the  body  of  a  man  lying  just  within  the  door, 
while  his  feet  hung  over  the  threshold. 

"What  damned  fool's  trick,"  he  muttered,  "to 
venture  out  on  a  day  like  this,  just  to  come  here  and 
gossip!" 

Seizing  the  man  by  the  ice-covered  shoulders,  he 
hauled  him  roughly  away  from  the  door  and  closed 
it.  He  touched  a  bell,  and  in  answer  came  the  jani 
tor. 

"Here,  Simpson,"  he  said,  "help  me  turn  this 
thing  over  and  see  who  it  is  hasn't  sense  enough  to 
stay  in  out  of  the  wet." 

The  man's  long  coat  was  sheeted  with  ice;  his 
boots  and  trousers,  to  the  knees,  were  fully  an  inch 
thick  with  frozen  snow;  his  face  was  bleared,  what 
little  of  it  was  shown  below  the  rim  of  his  slouch 
hat.  His  arms  lay  helpless,  and  Kimball  wondered 
how  he  had  strength  enough  to  open  the  door. 

[255] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

As  the  two  rolled  him  over  on  his  back  they  saw 
a  thin  stream  of  blood  oozing  from  his  mouth. 

"Bad  case,"  Kimball  said.  "Step  to  Doc.  Leigh's 
door  and  call  him." 

It  was  but  two  doors  away,  and  the  doctor,  al 
ready  prepared  to  brave  the  storm  in  behalf  of  his 
patients,  was  there  within  a  few  minutes.  The 
outer  clothes  were  stripped  from  the  unconscious 
man,  blankets  were  brought,  a  long  settee  was 
dragged  into  the  room,  and  he  was  placed  upon  It. 

Dr.  Leigh  wiped  away  the  blood  that  dribbled 
from  his  mouth,  and  the  water  that  trickled  from 
his  hair.  The  thin,  dark  face  was  covered  with  a 
beard  of  perhaps  a  month's  growth,  but  the  mous 
tache  was  long  and  ragged. 

Suddenly  the  doctor's  hand  stopped,  and  he  start 
ed  up. 

"By  God,  it's  Jack  Hammel !" 

"No!"  said  Kimball,  staring  blankly.  "No,  it 
can't  be " 

"I  tell  you  it  is!  I  attended  him  in  the  fall.  I 
know  him,  in  spite  of  his  beard,  and  the  waste  that 
the  disease  has  made  in  him." 

"Is  he  dead?"  Simpson  asked. 

"Not  by  a  jugful !"  was  Dr.  Leigh's  positive  an 
swer.  And  he  took  a  flask  of  brandy  from  his  med 
icine  case,  pried  open  the  clenched  teeth,  and  poured 
a  spoonful  of  the  liquor  down  the  helpless  man's 
throat. 

[256] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

There  was  a  convulsive  heaving  of  the  chest,  a 
drawing  up  of  the  legs  and  arms,  and  the  brandy 
was  swallowed.  Dr.  Leigh  sponged  away  the  blood 
that  still  flowed  from  his  mouth,  and  presently  the 
heavy  eyelids  lifted,  there  was  a  moan,  a  deep 
breath,  and  the  blood  came  like  a  fountain. 

"There,  Jack — carefully — easy  now  I"  And  the 
doctor  raised  the  head  of  the  patient  slightly  by 
slipping  a  ledger  under  the  cushion. 

"Where  am  I?"  Hammel  whispered  hoarsely. 
"Am  I  in  time?  Have  the  damned  fools  hung 
Nan?" 

"You're  my  guest,  Mr.  Hammel,"  Kimball  said, 
leaning  closer.  "You  meant  to  come  here,  to  my 
office,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  meant  to;  but  it's  only  Monday 

how  about  Nan  ?" 

"Mrs.  Hammel  is  well,  here  in  my  care.  I'm 
sorry  to  see  you  in  such  bad  shape." 

"Oh,  hell !    Have  they  got  Bromley?" 

"I  guess  not.    Who  is  Bromley?"  Kimball  asked. 

"Bromley's  the  damned  skunk  who  set  the  trap 
for  Nan.  I've  chased  'im  high  and  low,  and  Peters 
chased  me.  If  Bromley  can't  be  found,  you  can 
take  me  out  and  hang  me,  and  be  damned  to  you ; 
but  let  Nan  go.  She  knew  nothing  about  it.  I  stole 
her  keys  two  years  ago,  and  planned  the  whole  busi 
ness.  Seems  to  me,  any  fool  might  have  known 
that." 

[257] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

While  he  was  speaking  in  gasps,  Dr.  Leigh  con 
tinued  to  sop  away  the  blood  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
sometimes  in  a  steady  stream,  then  in  great  clots. 
The  dying  man  glanced  toward  the  sheriff.  "Get  a 
notary  from  somewhere,  and  get  'im  quick.  My 
checks  are  due " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  street 
door,  and  with  the  icy  cloud  also  came  Philip  Hale 
and  Detective  Peters. 

"Hello!  What  have  we  here?"  Hale  asked 
briskly,  as  he  shook  the  snow  from  his  coat  and 
hat. 

"Our  friend,  Mr.  Hammel,"  said  Dr.  Leigh, 
standing  aside.  "You're  a  notary,  aren't  you?" 
And  to  Hale's  prompt  "Yes,  sir,"  he  added :  "Take 
this  man's  statement.  He's  past  my  help,  but  he 
can  help  his  wife.  Be  as  rapid  as  possible.  Mr. 
Sheriff,  perhaps  you'd  better  acquaint  Mrs.  Ham 
mel,  and  bring  her  here,  and  hurry!" 

Kimball  hastened  to  Mrs.  Hammel's  cell,  half 
dazed  by  being  so  suddenly  lifted  out  of  the  semi- 
stupor  of  the  last  few  weeks.  He  motioned  the 
guard  to  one  side,  and  opened  the  door.  Mrs. 
Hammel  arose  from  the  table,  where  she  sat  writ 
ing,  and,  as  she  faced  him,  Kimball  could  see  the 
pallor  of  her  face  taking  on  a  blue,  corpse-like  tinge. 
He  felt  that  she  expected  to  be  told  that  her  last 
hour  had  come,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  was  pos 
sessed  by  the  devil  of  dumbness.  He  opened  his 

[258] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

lips,  but  no  words  came,  until  Mrs.  Hammel,  stand 
ing  like  a  statue,  said,  and  broke  the  awful  silence : 

"Is  it  to-day? — now?" 

Then,  like  a  sleeping  man,  he  said: 

"There's  a  visitor  in  my  office  who  wishes  to  see 
you.  He's  not  able  to  come  here.  Will  you  go 
with  me?" 

To  this  she  answered  slowly,  icily:  "You  are 
very  diplomatic,  Mr.  Kimball,"  and  followed  him 
out.  She  walked  beside  him,  keeping  step  with 
him  along  the  long  corridor,  and  no  other  word 
was  spoken.  They  came  to  a  turn  in  the  hall,  and 
were  only  a  few  feet  from  the  office,  when  Kimball, 
knowing,  as  we  know  things  in  dreams,  that  Mrs. 
Hammel  supposed  she  was  walking  to  her  death, 
felt  that  he  must  try  to  prepare  her  for  what  really 
awaited  her.  He  said: 

"Mrs.  Hammel,  try  to  prepare  yourself  for  a 
shocking  sight." 

She  turned  upon  him  scornfully. 

"Why  don't  you  put  on  the  black  cap  now,  so  I 
can't  see?" 

He  stopped  short  and  faced  her. 

"Mrs.  Hammel,  you're  going  to  my  office  to  see 
— your  husband;  and  he's  dying.  He's  making  a 
confession  that  sets  you  free." 

She  gasped,  threw  up  her  hands,  and  clasped  her 
throat,  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  the 
sheriff  supported  her. 

[259] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Ah !  that's  the  way  with  you  women,"  he  said 
gruffly,  "stand  up  and  take  the  hardest  kind  of  pun 
ishment  without  a  whimper;  grit  to  the  last  min 
ute;  but  when  everything's  settled  comfortably, 
then  comes  the  collapse." 

She  did  not  faint  nor  cry  out,  but  she  looked  like 
a  dead  woman  walking  when  she  entered  the  sher 
iff's  office. 

As  they  passed  in  there  was  no  sound  save  the 
voice  of  the  dying  man  as  he  gave  in  outline  the 
history  of  the  great  crime,  planned  by  himself,  and 
carried  out  by  his  confederate,  Nicholas  Bromley. 
Following  this  was  the  soft  rat-tat  of  Hale's  pencil. 
He  was  half-kneeling  by  the  settee  and  leaning  close 
to  Hammel  so  as  to  catch  every  word.  He  asked 
a  question  now  and  then,  as  a  stimulant  to  the  fad 
ing  senses,  but  very  gently;  and,  looking  up,  to  meet 
the  frightened,  grieving  eyes  of  Mrs.  Hammel,  he 
said: 

"That  is  all!" 

Dr.  Leigh  had  his  finger  on  Hammel's  wrist,  and 
rising  from  his  chair,  he  motioned  Mrs.  Hammel 
to  take  it.  She  seemed  to  wilt  into  it,  and  leaning 
over  the  dying  man,  she  sighed :  "Oh,  Jack !  How 
could  you?"  But  she  did  not  touch  him,  not  even 
his  long,  skeleton  hands. 

Dr.  Leigh  stood  at  the  back  of  the  settee  and 
used  his  sponge  on  the  crimson  stream  that  welled 
[260] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

from  Hammel's  mouth.  Hammel  gasped  in  a 
whisper  : 

"I  didn't  do  it,  Nan;  Bromley  did  it.  He  dropped 
the  keys,  too;  but  I  never  meant  to  let  them  hang 
you  for  it.  I  thought  they'd  have  more  sense.  Good 
Lord!  I  was  in  the  Ross  House  that  night,  and 
the  fools  said  'twas  you.  I  can't  ask  you  to  forgive 
me,  Nan — for  anything — I've  done.  Even  my 
mother  can't  forgive  me,  and  I  never  wronged  her 
as  I  have  you.  I'm  glad  it's  all  over — hope  they'll 
catch  Bromley — Chicago  police  know  him.  Try  to 
forget — all — about — me — Nan — and  have  a  good 
— time.  I  never  was  fit — to — even — touch — your 
—feet." 

A  long  sigh,  a  shiver,  a.  torrent  of  blood  from 
the  blue-white  mouth,  and  then  the  pale  woman, 
the  doctor,  the  sheriff,  the  notary,  and  the  detective, 
gazed  silently  on  the  face  of  the  dead. 


[261] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IT  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  that 
dark  Monday,  and  still  the  storm  showed  no  sign 
of  abatement.  Mr.  Drayton  had  not  attempted 
to  leave  the  house.  The  storm  was  his  ostensible 
reason  for  remaining  at  home,  but  he  was  inexpres 
sibly  sad.  The  state  of  his  youngest  son  was  suffi 
cient  cause  both-  for  his  sadness  and  for  absenting 
himself  from  business,  but  though  there  was  noth 
ing  said,  all  the  household  knew  that  he  was  too 
utterly  despondent  to  care  to  face  even  the  small 
amount  of  business  that  would  be  done  on  this  day. 
He  could  not  find  courage  enough  to  meet  even  the 
smallest  formalities  of  the  outside  world. 

In  spite  of  Judge  Hale's  assurances,  in  spite  of 
Philip's  high  spirits,  still  there  was  no  victim  forth 
coming  to  take  the  place  of  the  innocent  sacrifice. 

Abraham  may  have  felt  many  a  throe  of  sorrow 
that  the  world  has  never  heard  of.  He  may  have 
groaned  and  beat  his  breast;  there  was  no  one  there 
to  see  and  hear  and  tell. 

These  faithful  friends  of  'Mrs.  Hammel  felt,  on 
this  dark  day — that,  in  all  probability,  was  the  be- 
[262] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ginning  of  her  last  week  o/  life — a  most  intolerable 
gloom  and  depression. 

Paul,  through  his  steadily  encroaching  weakness, 
still  kept  an  account  of  the  flight  of  time.  He  knew 
the  day  of  the  month,  and  the  hour  of  the  day  or 
night.  He  calculated  mentally,  and  by  counting  on 
his  fingers  the  number  of  days  and  hours  possibly 
left  for  his  friend.  To-day,  but  for  his  weakness, 
he  would  have  fretted  himself  into  convulsions. 
His  mother  and  father  did  little  but  sit  by  him  and 
try  to  soothe  him,  as  they  would  have  done  an  ail 
ing  child. 

Lois,  with  tear-swollen  eyes,  gazed  out  on  the 
snow,  sweeping  in  clouds  and  drifts  until  the  street 
was  hidden.  If  she  left  the  window  and  came  into 
Paul's  presence,  he  at  once  essayed  to  rise,  his  eyes 
brightened,  and  always  came  the  eager  question : 
"Is  Phil  coming?"  And  as  Lois  slowly  shook  her 
head  he  fretted:  "Oh,  why  doesn't  he  come? 
Why  doesn't  he?  Poor  Nan!  Poor  Nan!"  And 
then  wilted  down  upon  his  pillows  again. 

Bett  was  going  about  her  dusting,  and  "putting 
to  rights"  very  softly,  casting  sympathetic  glances 
first  at  one,  then  another,  of  this  family  that  had 
been  a  kindly  providence  to  her. 

Auntie  Cleo  came  and  went  aimlessly,  and  Uncle 

Zeke  came  into  the  room,  looked  at  Paul,  then, 

shaking  his  head  sorrowfully,  retired  to  his  own 

part  of  the  house,  and  after  reading  a  few  passages 

[263] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

of  the  Scriptures,  knelt  and  prayed  most  fervently. 
He  felt  somehow  that  if  the  storm  would  last  long 
enough  it  might  serve  as  did  the  flood — con 
found  the  wicked  and  redeem  the  righteous.  He 
gave  hearty  thanks  for  the  snow  and  the  wind  and 
the  cold,  and  assured  the  "good  Laud"  that  these 
things  were  all  right  as  far  as  they  went,  but  he 
added:  "Don'  yo'  let  up,  good  Laud,  till  yo'-all's 
done  froze  out  all  de  wicked  an'  made  em  git  off 
de  yeth." 

By  and  by  Cleopatra  called:  "Hyah,  now,  yo 
Zeke !  Git  some  wood  fo'  dis  kitchen.  Dey  ain't 
no  sense  in  yo'  pesterin'  de  Laud  all  de  time.  Yo' 
got  dis  sto'm  sta'ted,  an'  I  reckon  de  Laud  kin  run 
it  hisse'f,  an'  quit  w'en  his  bucket's  done  emptied." 

Most  meekly  Zeke  mended  the  fires,  and  asked 
Cleopatra  if  he  could  be  of  any  "mo'  'sistance  to 
yo'  ?"  She  said  no,  and  she  would  let  him  know 
when  he  could  "ef  he  would  on'y  let  de  Laud  hev 
a  little  rest." 

Mrs.  Drayton  sat  holding  Paul's  hand,  and  he 
slept  fitfully.  Lois  leaned  against  the  window  that 
looked  on  the  street  from  the  family  room.  Pres 
ently  she  heard  a  faint  jangle  of  bells,  and  as  the 
sound  came  nearer  she  wondered  who  was  brave 
enough,  or  had  spirit  enough,  to  care  for  a  sleigh- 
ride  on  this  day.  Suddenly  there  was  a  muffled 
clash  of  the  bells,  and  through  the  blinding  clouds 
of  snow  she  saw  a  large  double  sleigh  at  the  side 
[264] 


IN  THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

gate.  There  were  voices,  too,  men's  and  women's, 
and  a  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  above  the  soughing 
of  the  wind  amongst  the  bare  boughs  of  the  trees. 

"Surely  that's  Basil!"  Lois  said,  as  she  turned 
from  the  window.  "How  can  he?"  And  she  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed. 

Mr.  Drayton  sighed  heavily,  and  arose  from  his 
chair  by  the  fire,  where  he  sat  pretending  to  read. 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Basil 
is  full  of  life.  Perhaps  he  wants  to  see  me." 

He  opened  the  door  in  time  to  meet  the  party 
of  four  that  waded  the  drifts  from  the  gate  to  the 
house,  and,  with  much  slipping,  stumbling,  and 
scrambling  over  the  snow-hidden  steps,  reached  the 
veranda. 

Four;  and  Mr.  Drayton  readily  recognized 
Basil,  Laura,  and  Philip  Hale.  But  this  muffled, 
veiled  woman — surely,  the  voice,  as  she  clung  to 
Hale,  was  familiar;  and  as  she  put  out  her  hand, 
though  blinded  by  the  swirling  snow,  he  recognized 
Mrs.  Hammel. 

"Oh,  we're  a  crazy  set!"  Basil  said.  "Anna, 
just  play  you're  Frances  for  a  few  minutes — that'll 
do,  won't  it,  father,  till  we  can  tell  Paul?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes ! — that's  right !  Hurry — get  your 
selves  inside!"  And  he  passed  in  first,  saying: 
"Mother — Lois!  Here's  Laura,  and — our  other 
girl,  come  to  help  us  pass  this  bad  day;  and  here's 
Phil,  to  see  Paul,  at  last ;  and  Paul  must  hold  him- 

[265] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

self  well  in  hand  now.  He's  going  to  hear  good 
news!" 

The  two  veiled  and  cloaked  women  passed 
through  the  room,  and  into  Mrs.  Drayton's  sleep 
ing  apartment,  and  Lois  did  not  guess  but  that 
Laura's  companion  was  Frances,  until  the  veils  were 
removed. 

Then,  to  her  hysterical  laughter  and  sobbing, 
Mrs.  Drayton  answered,  and,  half  dead  with  joy, 
she  clasped  the  redeemed  prisoner  in  her  arms. 

Gently,  carefully,  Philip  told  the  story  to  Paul, 
while  Mr.  Drayton  stood  by  with  a  cordial,  which 
he  administered  at  intervals.  When  the  story  was 
all  told,  Paul  lay  upon  his  pillows  with  beaming 
eyes  and  flushed  cheeks.  He  held  fast  to  Philip's 
hands. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  dreaming — you're  all  here!  Basil, 

is  it  snowing?  There's  Auntie  Cleo,  and  Zeke 

I'm  awake !  Oh,  Nan !  Nan !"  he  whispered.  "Let 
me  see  her!  I  can't  believe  till  I  see  her!" 

She  came  and  knelt  beside  his  couch.  Not  until 
she  had  been  released  had  Basil  and  Laura  told 
her  of  the  real  state  of  Paul's  health.  She  had 
known  that  "Paul  was  ailing,"  or  that  "Paul  was 
not  quite  well  this  winter."  She  had  been  pre 
pared  to  see  him  ill,  but  she  could  not  have  been 
told  the  change  she  found  in  the  always  delicate 
face. 

She  took  his  wasted  hands  in  her  own  and  kissed 
[266] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

his  sunken  cheeks,  his  eyes,  and  his  silky,  light 
hair. 

"Poor  little  Paul !"  she  cooed.  "Dear  little  play 
mate  !  You  must  get  well,  so  we  can  have  good 
times  again." 

"Yes,  Nan ;  but  you  must  stay  here  with  me — 
all  the  time.  I'll  not  believe  the  good  story  if  I 
lose  sight  of  you.  When  I  sleep  it'll  all  be  gone. 
You  must  be  where  I  can  see  you  as  soon  as  I  open 
my  eyes." 

"Yes,  dear,  I'll  stay,  till  you're  'all  better.'  "  And 
Mrs.  Hammel  laughed.  "Do  you  remember  you 
used  to  say  that  when  you  were  a  little  fellow?" 

"Yes,  I  remember;  and  you  must  stay  till  I'm 
'all  better.'  " 

Mrs.  Drayton,  leaning  over  her  guest,  pressed 
the  dusky  head  to  her  bosom. 

"Yes,  dear,  this  is  your  place,  your  home — as 
long  as  we  can  keep  you  with  us." 

Such  a  lifting  of  the  clouds  as  there  was,  though 
outside  there  was  no  hint  of  a  cessation  of  the  storm. 
Lois  laughed  and  wept,  and  Cleopatra  declared  she 
was  "all  outside  herse'f."  Dr.  Mason,  making 
his  visit  to  Paul,  threatened  her  with  a  strait-jacket. 

When  the  sleigh  returned  with  Basil  and  Laura, 
Philip  persuaded  Lois  to  go  out  with  them,  get  a 
breath  of  the  storm  to  clear  away  the  lingering 
remnants  of  the  horror  that  had  wrapped  her  spirits 
for  these  several  dreary  weeks. 
[267] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

She  went,  and  all  up  and  down  the  drift-filled 
streets  her  shouts  of  laughter  were  heard,  and  were 
carried  by  the  winds,  till  they  died  away.  The  few 
persons  who  were  out,  and  who  had  not  heard  the 
great  news,  wondered  who  in  Stillwater  could  be  so 
heartless  as  to  laugh  and  go  out  with  bells  on  this 
day. 

Before  dark  it  was  known  why  Lois  Drayton  was 
like  an  irresponsible  child  in  her  joy.  The  news 
was  told  over  the  counters  of  grocery  stores,  and 
bakeries,  and  meat  shops.  It  was  whispered  on 
the  streets,  that  Jack  Hammel  lay  dead  in  the  par 
lor  of  Swift,  the  undertaker,  or  funeral  director,  as 
he  preferred  to  be  called,  and  his  long-suffering 
widow  was  free. 

By  five  o'clock  the  Stillwater  Times  had  fifty 
young  men  and  boys  scuffling  through  the  drifts, 
selling  extras,  that  gave  the  whole  story. 

Basil  and  Philip,  on  the  second  sleigh-ride,  called 
on  Dan.  He  saw  them  at  the  gate,  and  he  waded 
the  drifts,  and  stood  bareheaded  in  the  storm. 

"It's  the  best  day  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  and  I 
thank  God  for  it!"  he  said  earnestly. 

Frances  called  very  gently  from  the  door  to  the 
party  in  the  sleigh:  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad!" 
And  they  believed  her. 

When  she  and  Dan  talked  the  story  all  over,  she 
said  : 

"No  doubt  she'll  stay  at  your  father's." 
[268] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Perhaps  for  a  while;  till  Paul  is  better,  any 
way." 

That  was  the  safe  harbor  in  which  the  sorely- 
tried  woman  was  housed;  and  it  was  well  for  her 
that  there  was  some  care  for  her  to  take  upon  her 
self,  some  demand  upon  her  time. 

Dr.  Mason  watched  her  narrowly.  He  fully 
expected  to  see  her  "break  and  go  all  to  pieces,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Drayton.  He  predicted  nervous  pros 
tration  ;  but,  later,  after  he  had  watched  vainly  till 
the  danger-line  was  passed,  and  when  he  told  Mrs. 
Hammel  of  his  professional  expectations  in  her  be 
half,  she  said: 

"Did  you  really  think  me  to  be  a  woman  to  be 
trifled  with  by  a  set  of  nerves  ?  I  keep  my  faculties 
as  servants;  and  through  all  that  time — when — 
well,  I  might  have  done  something  different,  I  never 
had  so  much  as  a  nervous  headache." 

Dr.  Mason  said  she  was  simply  wonderful;  and 
he  knew  why  she  was  wonderful.  He  had  known 
her  father,  Eugene  Dever,  intimately.  He  recalled 
one  day  when  this  most  respectable  and  compara 
tively  wealthy  man  said  to  him :  "Mason,  I'm  go 
ing  away.  I'm  so  weary  of  all  this  civilization  and 
domesticity.  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  There's 
a  strain  of  the  untamed  in  me.  I'm  going  on  a 
business  trip,  and  I'm  not  coming  back.  Now, 
please  keep  your  mouth  shut." 

So  he  had  gone,  and  nobody  ever  suspected  Dr. 
[269] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

Mason  of  knowing  any  more  than  anybody  else; 
and  he  justified  his  silence  to  himself  by  saying: 
"Dever  may  come  back  at  any  time.  It's  not  in  my 
place  to  blab." 

But  the  man's  wife  had  been  foully  murdered, 
and  his  daughter  came  near  to  perishing  for  the 
crime,  and  yet  he  had  not  come  back,  and  Dr.  Ma 
son  concluded,  as  had  others,  long  ago,  that  Eugene 
Dever  was  dead. 

Then  such  a  character  as  Mrs.  Dever  had  pos 
sessed;  what  strength  of  will  and  power  of  endur 
ance  had  been  hers,  to  close  her  house  and  her  heart 
against  friends  and  neighbors  as  she  had  done  be 
cause  her  daughter  had  grieved  and  disappointed 
her! 

Dr.  Mason  said  he  could  prescribe  more  intelli 
gently  for  a  sick  man  if  he  had  known  his  family 
for  two  or  three  generations.  He  had  not  known 
Mrs.  Hammel's  grandfather,  but  knowing  her  fath 
er  and  mother  gave  him  an  understanding  of  her 
own  wonderful  control  over  her  physical  and  mental 
powers. 

She  sent  for  Swift,  and  gave  full  directions  for 
the  care  of  her  late  husband's  remains,  and  for  their 
shipment  to  his  father,  in  Chicago,  by  the  first  train 
out  of  Stillwater.  Then,  with  tablet  on  her  knee, 
she  sat  by  Paul  and  wrote  out  for  her  publishers 
the  story  of  her  deliverance  "Out  of  the  jaws  of 
[270] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

death,  out  of  the  gates  of  hell,"  where  degraded 
men  and  the  blundering  law  had  placed  her. 

Bett  said  to  her  mother,  after  they  had  talked 
the  whole  story  over  and  over:  "I  tell  you,  Mrs. 
Hammel's  not  in  no  hurry  getting  her  mourning 
outfit.  I  shu'd  think  she  would.  She'll  look  mighty 
fine  all  in  black,  a  big  crape  veil,  and  her  widow's 
cap." 

Cleopatra  glared  at  her  daughter. 

"Wha'  fo'  she  want  to  put  on  mou'nin'  fo'  dat 
low  down  scamp?" 

"He  was  her  husband " 

"Mo's  de  shame  t'  'im !  Reckon  Miss  Nan 
wants  to  put  on  a  cap  an'  des  say,  hyah  I  is;  I'se  in 
de  ma'ket  ag'in.  One  scamp  wasn't  'nuff  fo'  me !" 

"Well,  you  know,  ma,  what  society  expects." 

"S'ciety  bettah  ten'  it's  own  business,  den." 

Zeke,  who  had  sat  by  the  stove,  smcking,  silently 
shook  his  head  and  laughed.  His  wife  turned  to 
him. 

"Wha'  yo'  laughin'  at,  now,  yo'  Zeke?" 

"I  jes'  t'inkin'  I'd  lak  t'  see  Miss  Nan  wah  de 
longest  red  feddah  an'  de  reddest  red  dress  'at  she 
c'u'd  buy.  Dat's  de  so't  o'  mou'nin'  I'd  lak  t'  see 
Miss  Nan  wah!" 


[271  ] 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

FOR  a  day  or  two  Paul  rallied,  and  seemed  to 
grow  stronger;  but  it  was  only  the  flashing  up  into 
a  clear  flame  of  the  burned-out  faggots.  His  lease 
of  life  was  spent,  and  by  the  middle  of  the  week 
he  was  past  all  hope. 

Dr.  Mason  told  Mrs.  Hammel  one  night,  when 
he  stole  softly  in  and  found  her  alone  with  Paul, 
and  he  asleep,  that  her  vigil  would  soon  be  over. 

"Such  a  pity!"  she  sighed.  "I  had  hoped  to  see 
him  growing  stronger,  and,  as  the  spring  came, 
quite  himself  again." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "No  more  getting 
up  for  the  poor  boy;  but  I'm  glad  you  can  be  with 
him.  His  affection  for  you  is  the  most  beautiful 
thing  I  ever  saw.  He  was  always  very  fond  of  you, 
wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  very.  As  a  little  child  he  depended  upon 
me,  as  I'm  four,  nearly  five,  years  older  than  he. 
He  was  always  so  sweet  and  gentle." 

"Yes.  Poor  boy!  Good-night!"  And  he  went 
away. 

Mrs.  Hammel  knew  the  story  of  the  blighting  of 
[272] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

this  youngest  of  the  Drayton  boys,  and  she  sat 
watching  him  as  he  slept,  and  thinking  how  inex 
pressibly  sad  it  was  that  the  tragedy  of  that  other 
woman  had  caused  him  to  come  into  the  world  only 
half  equipped  for  life;  and  her  own  misfortune  of 
the  same  character  was,  in  a  measure,  the  cause  of 
his  death. 

She  was  sitting  by  him,  next  day,  when  Judge 
Hale  came  in.  He  spoke  to  Paul,  but,  seeing  how 
feeble  he  was,  he  joined  Mrs.  Drayton  in  the  par 
lor. 

They  spoke  but  little,  and  in  low  tones.  As  he 
rose  to  go  he  said,  holding  the  hand  of  his  hostess : 

"Mrs.  Drayton,  I  wonder  that  you  are  not  filled 
with  bitterness  and  reviling.  I  feel  blackened  with 
nameless  sins  in  your  presence,  knowing  it  was  my 
lack  of  mercy  that  so  reacted  upon  you  that  your 
son  has  but  lived  half  a  life,  and  now  he  lies  yon 
der,  dying." 

She  answered  quietly: 

uNo,  I  am  not  full  of  bitterness.  I  have  grieved, 
truly,  for  what  befell  me  and  mine;  but  there  is 
so  much  to  undo.  There  is  such  a  world  full — so 
many  ages  of  wrong  conclusions.  You  see,  we  can 
give  no  guess  as  to  the  amount  of  sorrow  there  is 
in  the  world,  caused  by — mistakes.  I  never  see 
an  inferior,  or  a  deficient  person,  but  I  wonder  who 
was  to  blame.  I  am  sure  that  women  who  refuse, 
for  any  reason  whatever,  to  bear  children,  do  not 
[273] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

know  how  wise  they  are.  They  cannot  guess  the 
heartaches,  the  disappointment,  they  spare  them 
selves." 

"True;  but  where  will  you  find  more  complete 
men  than  are  your  two  older  sons,  or  a  more  per 
fect  woman  than  is  Lois?" 

"Nowhere ;  and  that  only  emphasizes  the  tragedy 
of  Paul.  I  had  proven  my  capacity  as  a  mother. 
I  was  like  the  women  Mrs.  Browning  speaks  of, 
who  'Bear  children  in  strength,  and  crush  back  the 
cry  of  their  pain  in  self-scorn.'  I  accepted  the  mis 
sion  for  which  I  was  created.  I  rejoiced  continually 
in  myself  and  in  my — children,  so  strong,  so  per 
fect,  we  all  were.  But  little  Paul — how  I  have 
tried  to  shield  him,  but  it  was  not  always  possible." 

"Of  course  you  had  medical  advice  long  ago?" 

"Oh,  yes;  immediately  after  his  birth,  and  many 
times  while  he  was  a  child.  Nothing  could  be  done. 
My  agony  of  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Parks  sapped  his 
strength,  and  gave  him  the  legacy  of  weakness,  and 
the  painful  appearance  of  continually  strangling. 
While  Mrs.  Hammel  lay  in  prison,  under  sentence, 
my  sufferings  of  that  time  before  Paul  was  born 
were  reproduced  in  him.  If  it  had  not  been  for  this 
he  might  have  lived — not  to  be  old,  but  many  phy 
sicians  have  thought  that  if  he  lived  to  pass  the  age 
of  twenty-five  he  might  grow  stronger." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  within  less  than  a 
week  afterthe  release  of  Mrs.  Hammel  from  prison 
[274] 


IN   THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

she  sat  by  Paul's  side  and  held  his  hands  while  he 
gently  passed  into  the  great  unknown.  His  mother 
knelt  by  his  couch,  and  his  last  words  to  her  were : 

"Never  mind,  darling  mother,  you'll  have  Nan." 

He  realized  that  he  was  dying.  His  eyes  wan 
dered  about  the  group,  and  seeing  Dan,  he  whis 
pered  : 

"Try  to  make  over  that  law,  won't  you?" 

And  the  promise  came:  "Yes,  Paul,  with  all 
my  soul,  yes." 

Then  smiling  at  Mrs.  Hammel,  the  faintest  whis 
per  came : 

"Dear  Nan — pretty — Nan!"  And  the  eyelids 
drooped,  as  if  in  utter  weariness,  and  he  seemed  to 
sleep. 

Mrs.  Hammel  felt  the  hands  she  clasped  grow 
cold  and  colder,  and,  leaning  over  him,  she  touched 
his  cheek  with  her  own.  Glancing  at  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton,  who  leaned  against  her,  the  story  was  told. 


I  275  1 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  snow  still  lay  in  hilly  drifts  in  the  streets, 
and  in  huge,  dirty  heaps,  where  the  snow-ploughs 
and  the  shovels  had  thrown  it,  but  the  sun  was  shin 
ing  brightly  as  preparations  were  made  for  the 
funeral  of  Paul  Drayton,  on  the  Monday  following 
the  release  of  Mrs.  Hammel  and  the  death  of  Jack 
in  the  sheriff's  office.  No  one  seemed  to  care  much 
whether  or  not  the  man  accused  by  Jack  was  found. 
Detective  Peters  said  openly  that  he  had  lost  inter 
est  in  the  case  after  Mrs.  Hammel  was  out  of  it, 
and  as  Chicago  had  a  prior  claim  against  Bromley, 
he  would  leave  it  to  that  city.  An  officer  from 
there  was  in  Stillwater,  awaiting  developments,  and 
ready  to  press  his  claims  if,  by  chance,  Bromley 
should  be  drawn  to  the  place  by  the  death  of  his 
pal. 

It  was  on  Saturday  afternoon  that  two  farmers 
from  a  half  dozen  miles  away  drove  into  Still- 
water  and  reported  the  discovery  of  the  corpse  of  a 
man  in  their  neighborhood.  They  had  been  out 
after  rabbits  and  other  game,  when  one  of  them 
stumbled  over  the  body,  where  it  lay  against  the 
[276] 


IN  THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

sunny  side  of  a  pile  of  logs.  The  snow  had  melted 
away,  and  they  supposed  the  man  had  perished  in 
the  first  of  the  storm. 

It  was  a  case  for  the  coroner.  The  body  was 
frozen,  but  no  one  knew  the  face  until  the  secret 
service  man  from  Chicago  came.  He  at  once 
proved,  by  certain  marks,  that  this  was  Nicholas 
Bromley,  forger,  card  sharp,  burglar,  murderer. 

When  Auntie  Cleo  heard  the  news,  she  found 
reason  to  reprimand  her  "ole  man." 

"Now  see  w'at  yo'  done!  Yo'  c'u'dn't  be  sat's- 
fied  wid  a  'spectable  sto'm.  Yo'  des  hed  to  pestah 
de  Laud  till  He  clean  killed  dem  two  low  down 
scamps,  w'en  dis  town  was  done  gone  crazy  fo'  a 
hangin'.  Nex'  time  yo'  set  yo'se'f  to  tell  de  Laud 
'bout  runnin'  His  business,  try  an'  hev  sense  t'  know 
w'en  yo'  said  'nuff." 

Zeke  took  his  reprimand  meekly,  and  was  espe 
cially  careful  about  tending  the  fires  for  a  week 
afterward;  and  his  prayers  were  very  mild  and 
short. 

So  Mrs.  Hammel  found  the  dark  chapter  of  her 
life  closed  irrevocably.  She  sighed  for  the  past 
that  held  her  mother,  but  she  resolutely  set  her  face 
toward  the  future. 

In  the  home  of  the  Draytons  she  found,  at  this 

time,  much  to  do.     She  seemed  to  belong  to  them 

through  Paul's  love  for  her.    She  felt  glad,  without 

knowing  it,  that  she  could  be  of  service.    She  took 

[277] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

charge  of  the  house,  was  the  go-between  for  busi 
ness  people,  and  met  all  visitors. 

She  received  Dan  and  Frances  when  they  came, 
and  in  the  new  light  in  which  Frances  saw  her  hus 
band's  relations  and  friends,  she  acknowledged  to 
herself  that  no  woman  could  carry  the  situation 
more  gracefully  than  did  Mrs.  Hammel.  She  met 
Dan,  not  as  the  prosecutor  who  had  so  nearly  been 
her  murderer,  but  as  her  old-time  friend,  and  as 
one  of  the  family  that  had  stood  staunchly  by  her 
through  her  dark  days. 

At  first  Frances  found  it  hard  to  accept  the  sit 
uation;  to  meet  this  woman  whom  she  persisted  in 
thinking  her  rival,  though  she  refrained  from 
speaking  it. 

Mrs.  Caylor  secured  another  "pass,"  and,  as  she 
told  her  neighbors,  she  must  "keep  up  appearances, 
and  go  to  the  funeral  of  Frank's  brother-in-law." 

She  had  heard,  in  her  own  home,  of  the  tempo 
rary  separation  of  Dan  and  Frances,  and  she  was 
unsparing  in  blame  of  her  daughter. 

"You  needn't  tell  me  one  word,"  she  said  se 
verely.  "I  know  your  temper,  an'  I  c'u'd  see  las' 
summer  jes'  what  it'd  lead  to.  The  idee  of  you 
settin'  yerself  up  to  boss  a  man  like  Dan  Drayton ! 
W'y,  even  Liz  c'u'd  see  that  you  meant  to  henpeck 
'im !  Liz  ain't  so  very  smart,  an'  she  ain't  got  no 
schoolin',  but  she's  mighty  right  w'en  she  said, 
'Miss  Frank'll  find  Dan  won't  henpeck  worth  a 
[278] 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

cent.'  An'  he  didn't.  An'  you  settin'  yerself  ag'in 
all  'is  folks,  too.  W'y,  what  d'ye  s'pose'd  become 
of  you  ef  'is  mother  hadn't  'a'  persuaded  'im  to 
go  back  to  ye?  Now,  Miss  Lady,  you  jes'  better 
sing  kinder  small,  an'  let  Dan  manage  'is  business 
in  'is  own  way,  an'  do  what  he's  be'n  raised  fer. 
W'y,  by  the  talk  ther'  was  up  our  way,  he'd  'a'  be'n 
strung  up  to  a  lamp-post  ef  that  girl'd  'a'  be'n 
hung.  An'  look  what  a  sight  of  trouble  they've  had 
all  these  ye'rs  because  of  one  hangin' !  W'y,  I 
wonder  'at  one  las'  one  o'  the  Draytons  speaks  to 
yer  at  all;  an'  I  wonder  a  good  deal  more  'at  sech 
a  man  es  Dan  ought  ter  be,  considerin'  'is  father 
an'  mother,  an'  'is  raisin',  that  yer  c'u'd  lead  'im 
by  the  nose  fer  a  single  minnit.  I  hope  this'll  be  a 
lesson  t'  yer.  I  don't  say  'at  Dan's  got  any  notion 
o'  Miss  Hammel,  nor  ever  had,  but  she's  mighty 
good-lookin',  an'  anybody  c'n  see,  even  ef  they  was 
blind,  what'd  be  likely  t'  happen  ef  you  cut  up  any 
more  sech  capers.  Besides  bein'  good-lookin',  she's 
Dan's  old  chum,  an'  a  burnt  stick's  easy  kindled. 
She's  there  in  his  father's  house,  an'  ef  Dan  finds 
he  can't  live  in  peace  with  you,  he  c'n  easy  get  a 
divorce  fer  'imself,  an'  then  ther's  that  rich,  good- 
lookin'  widdo'  right  to  'is  hand.  Ef  you  bring 
trouble  on  yerself  you'll  jes'  hev  to  bear  it." 

While  Frances  listened  to  her  mother,  and 
writhed  at  her  crudity  of  language,  she  flushed  to 
her  temples  because  of  the  truth  so  plainly  spoken. 

[279] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

For  all  the  veneer  of  her  years  in  school,  in  spite  of 
her  efforts  to  obliterate  her  inheritance  of  poverty 
and  ignorance,  she  could  not  blind  her  honest,  un 
cultured  mother.  She  could  not  for  a  moment  de 
ceive  her  into  the  belief  that  she  was  anything  more 
than  simply  a  lucky  woman  to  be  married  into  a 
fine,  substantial  family,  that  could  introduce  her 
into  a  better  way  of  life  than  she  had  ever  dreamed 
of. 

This  was  a  great  annoyance  to  Frances.  Her 
mother  refused  to  see  her  as  coming  into  her  own. 
She  had  anchored  herself  securely  for  life  by  dint 
of  selfish  managing,  just  as  she  had  always  striven 
to  better  her  own  condition  and  ignore  her  origin, 
instead  of  lending  a  helping  hand  to  her  own,  and 
drawing  them  upward  with  her  to  something  a  lit 
tle  better  than  they  knew  in  their  poor,  plain  home, 
devoid  of  beauty,  and  with  but  few  of  the  comforts 
of  life. 

And  now  the  mother's  advice,  her  crude  state 
ment  of  the  truth,  was  like  a  bitter  medicine  to 
Frances;  bitter  because  of  the  absolute  truth  of 
every  word. 


[280] 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

MRS.  DRAYTON  stood  by  the  casket  that  held  her 
youngest  born.  There  was  a  look  of  peace  upon 
her  face,  and  she  touched  the  soft  hair  of  her  son 
gently  as  she  murmured : 

"My  poor  baby ! — my  blighted  boy !" 

The  door  opened  softly,  and  Judge  Hale  stood 
beside  her. 

He  clasped  her  hand  and  looked  down  on  the 
face  of  the  dead.  The  house  was  very  still.  It 
was  Sunday  morning.  The  sun  was  shining  bright 
ly.  The  snow  was  melting,  and  the  streets  had 
many  flowing  streams. 

"I  came  this  morning,"  said  the  old  lawyer,  "to 
see  you  for  perhaps  the  last  time,  until  whenever 
it  is  that  you  can  give  your  little  girl  into  the  care 
of  my  son." 

"You  go  home?— East?" 

"No,  not  at  once.  Where  I  go  will  depend  upon 
the  information  you  give  me  about  a  certain  fam 
ily.  If  I  remember  correctly,  you  told  me,  some 
short  time  ago,  that  you  kept  trace  of  the  sister  of 
the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Parks." 
[281] 


IN   THE   FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes;  I've  known  of  her  since  a  short  time  after 
the  tragedy." 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  I  can  make  any 
reparation — I  know  that  I  cannot — but  I'll  do  what 
I  can.  If  this  Mrs. " 

"Rayburn,"  Mrs.  Drayton  supplied. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Rayburn ;  if  she  needs  anything  that 
a  moderate  amount  of  money  can  supply,  she  shall 
have  it.  If  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Parks  can  in 
'any  way  be  benefited  by  aught  that  I  can  do,  all 
that  is  possible  shall  be  done.  Can  you  tell  me  of 
their  circumstances?" 

"I  only  know  what  Mrs.  Rayburn  writes  me. 
They  have  prospered  in  the  West.  I  hear  from 
them  every  week." 

"Indeed?  How  did  you  come  to  feel  so  much 
interest  in  her?  I  had  not  understood  that  you 
ever  met  her." 

"Yes,  I've  met  Mrs.  Rayburn — not  for  many 
years,  though,  and  our  meeting  at  the  time,  soon 
after  the  great  trouble,  was  by  the  merest  chance. 
Before  the  birth  of  Paul  I  was  in  such  a  precarious 
state  of  health  that  my — children  were  taken  in 
charge  by  my  mother,  who  lived  in  a  neighboring 
town.  After  Paul's  birth  I  was  still  feeble,  and 
my  puny,  inferior  baby  did  not  tend  to  encourage 
me  in  gaining  strength.  My  physician  advised  an 
entire  change  of  scene  for  a  season.  I  was  too 
[282] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

spiritless  to  do  anything  but  consent  to  whatever 
was  arranged  for  me. 

"My  husband  had  some  business  interests  in  the 
West,  and  with  a  reliable  nurse  we  started  on  our 
long  journey,  leaving  Basil  and  Dan  with  their 
grandmother.  We  were  but  one  day  on  our  way 
when  I  noticed  a  family  group  that  interested  me, 
and  I  watched  them,  drawn  to  them  uncontrollably. 
The  family  consisted  of  the  young  husband  and 
wife  and  four  children :  two  boys,  a  little  girl  less 
than  two  years  of  age,  and  a  baby  girl  in  arms. 

"It  is  needless  to  say  how  the  acquaintance  be 
gan.  Before  the  end  of  the  second  day,  through 
sympathy  for  me  and  the  baby,  I  knew  that  this 
young  mother  was  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Parks,  who 
had  interested  me  so  to  my  own  hurt.  I  knew,  too, 
that  the  pretty  little  Carrie  was  the  daughter  of 
that  most  unfortunate  woman.  So  our  friendship 
grew.  We  were  together  for  the  week  or  more 
that  it  required  to  make  the  journey.  The  Ray- 
burns  were  going  to  live  on  a  ranch  somewhere  in 
the  Far  West,  to  hide  themselves,  if  possible,  from 
everyone  who  had  ever  known  them  and  the  trag 
edy  connected  with  them. 

"Particularly,  Mrs.  Rayburn  wished  her  little 
niece  to  be  known  as  her  own  child,  and  never,  by 
any  chance,  to  hear  of  her  mother.  If  you  remem 
ber,  Parks  was  killed  in  an  elevator  accident  a  short 
time  before  the  death  of  his  wife." 
[283] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  do  remember  it." 

"We  journeyed  together,  and  our  friendship 
grew  through  our  sympathy  with  each  other;  and 
when  we  separated  there,  amongst  the  strangers, 
no  one  but  ourselves  could  have  said  to  a  certainty 
to  which  parents  the  several  children  belonged,  ex 
cepting  the  babies  in  arms." 

Judge  Hale  was  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  his 
bushy  eyebrows  drawn  down  so  as  to  almost  hide 
his  severe  dark  eyes.  Mrs.  Drayton  paused;  her 
hand  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  casket. 

"I've  said  nothing,  as  yet,  Judge  Hale,  that  you, 
lawyer  as  you  are,  can  use  to  trace  the  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Parks." 

"Mrs.  Drayton,"  he  said,  scarcely  above  a  whis 
per,  "what's  this  that  you  tell  me?" 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute  where  you  may  find 
the  daughter  of  the  woman  whose  life  you  might 
have  saved,  and  did  not." 

"There  was  no  least  doubt  of  her  guilt." 

"There  was  no  least  doubt  of  her  provocation. 
She  was  a  woman  whose  sense  of  right  had  been 
outraged  beyond  endurance." 

"But,  Mrs.  Drayton,  while  the  law  stood  as  it 
did,  what  was  I  to  do?" 

"Just  what  you  did.  Anyone  may  become  a  mur 
derer  if  the  sufficient  provocation  comes.  It  came 
to  Mrs.  Parks,  and  it  came  to  you." 

"Ah!"  And  his  breath  came  between  his  com- 
[284] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

pressed  lips  in  a  hiss.  "Is  that  the  summing  up 
of  the  case  against  me?  What  would  become  of 
the  laws  if  your  reasoning  grew  to  be  general?" 

"The  laws  would  be  repealed,  as  laws  are  every 
year  in  every  State  in  the  Union.  Which  laws  are 
older — those  made  by  men,  or  those  of  human  na 
ture  ?  Those  based  upon  innate  knowledge  of  right 
and  wrong? — those  that  rise  in  rebellion  when  the 
soul  of  the  human  is  tyrannized  over?" 

"Still,  Mrs.  Drayton,  while  it  is  pitiably  true 
that  homicide  is  justifiable  in  many  instances  be 
cause  of  provocation,  yet  we  must  have  laws  that 
will  deal  with  an  even  hand." 

"But  the  law  discriminates;  it  is  allowed  to  dis 
criminate.  It  grows  to  one  interpretation  in  the 
hands  of  one  lawyer,  to  another  when  translated  by 
another.  A  man  may  be  an  avenging  autocrat  in 
dealing  out  the  letter  of  the  law,  or  he  may  be  the 
personification  of  mercy  by  recognizing  the  spirit. 
In  face  of  the  awful  tragedy  but  barely  averted  here 
amongst  us,  I  cannot  see  how  anyone  can  uphold 
a  law  that  sanctions — nay,  demands,  the  taking  of 
human  life.  That  there  must  be  laws,  I  agree;  but 
a  life  should  not  be  taken,  even  a  most  depraved 
life,  by  a  vote  of  aye  or  nay.  Here,"  and  she  laid 
her  hand  on  the  forehead  of  the  dead,  "is  my  argu 
ment.  As  I  suffered,  so  have  other  women  suf 
fered." 

"In  the  presence  of  this  potent  argument  I  stand 


IN  THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

convinced.  I  feel  that,  all  unknowing,  I  wronged 
you,  perhaps  others.  I  dealt  out  justice  as  I  found 
it  made  for  my  hand.  I  have  sinned  grievously, 
and  I  believe  I  am  truly  repentant.  I  am  ready 
to  humble  myself  before  the  family  of — Mrs. 
Parks.  Kindly  finish  your  story.  You  left  those 
people  somewhere  near  the  Pacific  coast?  The  baby 
of  that  sad  time  is  now  a  woman." 

"Yes,  we  left  the  Rayburns  on  a  ranch  in  South 
ern  California.  I  have  never  seen  them  since.  The 
Parks  child  is  now  a  woman,  but  in  all  our  corre 
spondence  she  is  never  mentioned  save  by  the  name 
she  received  when  adopted.  She  might  read  every 
letter  that  passes  between  Mrs.  Rayburn  and  my 
self,  and  never  suspect  the  truth.  She  supposes  her 
self  the  real  daughter  of  her  foster  parents,  and  the 
other  children  of  the  family  suppose  so,  too.  You 
remember,  Judge  Hale,  that  I  believe  if  the  su 
preme  provocation  arises,  any  man — any  woman — 
may  take  life?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Drayton,  I  remember;  and  I,  too,  be 
lieve  that  any  human  creature  may  do  anything  that 
any  other  has  done." 

"Listen,  then.  If  I  give  you  the  clew — if  I  tell 
you  where  you  may  find  this  girl,  and  you  in  the 
least  item  forfeit  your  voluntary,  unsolicited  prom 
ise  to  be  kind  and  helpful  to  her — if  you  breathe 
it  to  anyone  but  myself  or  my  husband  that  you  even 
know  her  to  be  other  than  what  you  see,  thus  undo- 
[286] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

ing  the  work  of  years  of  those  who  have  cherished 

her "     Mrs.  Drayton  paused,  leaned  forward, 

and  her  eyes  burned  black  in  her  pallid  face.  "Lis 
ten  !  Here,  in  the  sacred  presence  of  my  dead  son, 
I  tell  you  that  my  own  provocation  will  be  at 
hand!" 

Her  voice  ended  in  a  whisper. 

Judge  Hale  spoke  slowly,  deliberately: 

"I  hear  you.  I  understand.  I  accept  the  condi 
tions.  Go  on." 

"While  in  California,  the  nurse  I  had  sickened 
and  died.  We  sent  her  remains  to  her  friends,  and 
with  Mrs.  Rayburn's  assistance  I  managed  until  we 
separated,  I  to  come  East,  she  to  go  to  their  ranch. 
Then  I  engaged  another  nurse  in  the  town  where 
we  were,  for  my  two  children,  and " 

"Mrs.  Drayton!"  And  Judge  Hale  sprang  to 
his  feet.  She,  too,  arose,  and  met  his  fierce  eyes 
steadily. 

As  a  blind  man  might,  he  put  out  his  hands  as 
if  to  seize  her.  She  took  a  step  backward,  but  never 
once  shifted  her  gaze  from  his. 

"Lois?"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"Lois!"  she  repeated,  in  a  low,  even  tone.  He 
sank  into  his  chair,  and  Mrs.  Drayton  resumed  her 
place  beside  the  casket. 

"This  daughter  of  a  murderess — the  child  of  a 
woman  executed  by  the  law — is  to  be  my  son's 
wife!" 

[287] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"This  daughter  of  a  woman  foully  wronged,  tor 
tured  beyond  endurance,  and  then  pitilessly  slain, 
is  to  be  the  wife  of  the  son  of  the  man  who  caused 
her  mother's  death." 

"Mrs.  Drayton,  the  crime  was  there;  it  must 
have  been  punished !  If  Mrs.  Parks  had  been  im 
prisoned  for  life,  her  daughter  must  have  known 
of  it;  at  least,  it's  most  probable  that  she'd  have 
known.  Seems  to  me,  that,  for  all  concerned,  death 
was  more  merciful." 

"It  was  a  shorter,  swifter  way  out  of  it  for  all — 
excepting  myself  and  my  child.  In  the  case  of  life 
imprisonment  I  should  not  have  been  drawn  into 
the  matter  at  all,  excepting  to  grieve  that  a  woman 
had  been  driven  to  madness  in  her  own  home.  You 
saw  Paul  while  agonizing  over  the — law's  decree — 
in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Hammel.  He  rehearsed  all  my 
suffering  of  so  many  years  ago.  This  torture  of 
sympathy  I  would  not  have  felt  for  a  woman  in 
prison.  But  to  know  that  she  must  die  by  the  hands 
of  men — that  she  must  know  of  it  for  days  before 
hand,  was  the  cruelty  of  it. 

"That  was  why  I  suffered,  why  my  son  was 
dwarfed  and  incomplete,  why  his  life  was  a  torture, 
and  why  we  cannot  grieve  for  his  early  death.  That 
was  why  I  took  to  my  heart  the  little  orphan,  seek 
ing  in  a  small  way  to  atone  for  the  sins  of  the  law 
against  her  mother. 

"When  I  came  to  Stillwater,  twenty  years  ago, 
[288] 


IN  THE    FIRST  DEGREE 

without  going  to  my  old  home,  and  sent  for  Basil 
and  Dan,  they  received  the  little  sister  and  the  lit 
tle  brother  without  question.  They  believe  that 
Lois  is  their  sister.  My  family  in  the  East  was 
small,  and  people  did  not  travel  as  much  as  they 
do  now.  I've  never  once  been  embarrassed  by  ques 
tions  as  to  the  age  of  Lois,  or  anything  pertaining 
to  her." 

"I  never  would  have  believed,"  Judge  Hale  said, 
reflectively.  "I've  always  said  that  blood  would 
tell ;  that  birth  is  more  than  training." 

"And  you  are  right.  Mrs.  Parks  was  naturally 
a  gentle,  self-sacrificing  woman.  She  was  a  well- 
educated  woman.  I  know  this  from  many  sources. 
The  daughter  has  one  of  the  tenderest,  most  sym 
pathetic  natures  I  ever  met.  But  her  sense  of  right 
and  wrong  is  most  acute ;  sharpened,  I've  no  doubt, 
by  what  her  mother  endured  before  she  was  born. 
Her  father  was  brutal  in  his  nature,  and  all  the 
culture  he  possessed  but  served  to  hide  his  bestiality 
from  the  persons  he  met  casually." 

Judge  Hale  was  silent.  His  face  was  troubled. 
It  reflected  the  hurt  that  was  inflicted  on  his  pride 
by  the  eternal  law  that  metes  out  justice  even- 
handed. 

Mrs.  Dray  ton  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  por 
tiere  was  swept  aside. 

"Mamma !"  And  Lois,  pale,  sad,  lovely  in  her 
ptain  black  dress,  came  in. 

[289] 


IN   THE    FIRST   DEGREE 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"I  only  wanted  to  find  you,"  and  she  stood,  unde 
cided  whether  to  go  or  stay. 

Judge  Hale  arose,  and,  advancing  to  where  she 
stood,  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"My  little  girl!"  And  he  pressed  his  cheek 
against  her  crown  of  brown  hair.  "My  dear  daugh 
ter,  no  evil  shall  ever  touch  her  that  a  sad  and  sinful 
old  man  can  prevent." 


THE  END 


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